True Beauty
by Rainne
Summary: Sasha's a servant in the Beast's castle after her mother dies. Rating 4 language My FIRST FANFIC, here's the usual: Read and review n keep the flames on mild.
1. Homecoming

A/N: This is it. My first attempt at a fanfic. I'm a little nervous, a little scared. Of my computer, for one, plus the rest of you guys. But here goes nothing I guess. I've recently read a really good fanfic with Beauty and the Beast as its origins. So, if any of you has read my bio, you know that I get my ideas from what I read/see (something I believe is a great trait in a fanfic author). Naturally, I got an idea and haven't stopped thinking about it. It actually inspired me to register and get it all out. So, thank you Gatekeeper, for your wonderful and talented writing, which has gotten me off my lazy, docile browser ass and onto my computer. Here we go.  
  
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"So," I said, "This is the place, huh?" I got a burning sensation deep in my chest just looking at the place. It had to have been the single largest building I'd ever seen. "Yes, Sasha, this is it," was Father's only monotone reply. He stared arrow- straight in the driver's seat of the old wagon at the dusty dirt road ahead of us. I gazed at him briefly, praying that one day he would break out of this funk and be my father again. Not likely, said my cynical mind-voice. Shut up! There's hope, replied another voice, from far, far deeper. Hope, that just brought the familiar stinging knot in my throat and grimace to my face. The memories attempted to break the dam I had constructed after. I was done with hope, it brought nothing but trouble. I swallowed all the eruptive emotion with a strengthening sigh, staring determinedly out at the looming castle. This was it, our new home. I could deal with that. The grayness of it all was what hit me first. Gray and black, those seemed to be the only tones brave enough to survive in the "haunted castle of the beast lord" as the villagers of the nearest town so quaintly put it. Black were the leafless trees and thorny bushes. Gray was the unchanging sky. Gray and black made up the stone of the castle itself, whose turrets and spires seemed to pierce the heavens. It could have been beautiful, once, long ago. It was every bit the broody, unwelcoming place one might expect to house the tortured soul of a cursed noble. "Well," I said, groping for anything to get a rise from Father, "We'll never run out of things to clean here, that's for damn sure." I glanced over at him expectantly. He hated cursing, always did. I could never bring myself to use lavender-scented soap, for it brought the God-awful taste of it to my mouth from all the childhood punishments. "No, I suppose not," he said, Damn, nothing, "It will be good work, good money. " Okay, I lost this time, but there would be other chances. The old wagon finally tottered its way around the final curve in the road, revealing what had been hidden by the trees, if you could call the black claws sticking out of the ground that. A wide area before the immense wooden door had been cleared, probably to accommodate large amounts of nobles for balls and the like. Now it was empty, the only life being the weeds sprouting here and there in the dirt. Father stopped Barcelona, our old mare, in the middle of the expanse, dropping to the ground in one fluid motion. I hopped out after him, stumbling, as usual. He strode without waiting for me up the gray steps to the door. Bang, bang, bang! It rang out as Father lifted the great iron knocker on one of the wooden double doors. Then he stood back and waited. I assumed the position at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on one of the large stone pillars upon which snarling lions growled at me. Figures, was my only thought. Finally, the sound of rusty hinges creaking open greeted our ears. When the door had opened approximately two feet, a man stepped out. "I assume you must be Dante and his daughter, Sasha," he said stiffly. Stiffly seemed to me to be the only thing this man would be capable of. I came to this conclusion from observing that everything about him was stiff. From his salt-and-pepper hair to his back straighter than Father's gaze, to his feet held at an exact 45-degree angle. Dad just nodded, not seeming to take in anything from this cold introduction than that we were expected, we wouldn't be kicked out. Good news. "Come in then, I'll have Ivan take care of your horse and supplies." He turned then, and Father followed him into the darkness of the castle. With a dry swallow, I clambered up the stairs with little more than the usual quota of staggering, and into the darkness.  
  
A/N: Okay, there you go. I think it turned out okay, for my first time. Review please, and we'll see if I keep this going. No promises! 


	2. Figures

A/N: Hey, sports fans! It's me! Didja miss me? Sorry about the first chapter being nothing but a big long paragraph, some sorta computer thing I was definitely not aware of. I hope you're all still with me. Also, I apologize if it happens again with this chapter. I'll try to deal with it if it happens. Anyway, I was wondering, should I have a few chapters be from the Beast's point of view? I've been thinking about the story for a while, and whenever I think about the middle of it, it sounds like Beast's point of view. So, if you're still reading, give me some advice: Keep with Sasha, or give Beast a chance? Here we go.  
  
  
  
Once my eyes adjusted, they widened to the size of dinner plates as I gazed at the space I was in. It was huge, it was dark, it simply figured. It was a more wide than long front hall that ended in two flights of stairs that curved toward each other, met, then split again to lead to the next floor. Between the stairs was a door nearly the size of that of the main entrance. The only difference was the ornate carvings of flowers and animals, along with the gold and white gilding on the frame.  
  
"This is the main hall," the butler unnecessarily, who said his name was Crawford (no first name, figures), "How long have you and your daughter been in this line of business, Master Dante?" ("Line of business" was always the rich folks way of saying paid-servitude)  
  
"Four years," answered my father, "My wife got sick six years ago. She held on for two years, but she was confined to her bed. Sasha and I did the cleaning for our home until she died." He paused, as always when spilling our sob story to the new bosses, "There seemed no sense in staying in a house full of sadness so we left. We've been taking cleaning jobs since."  
  
Crawford opened the door under the stairs, which led to a slightly smaller, longer hall. This one had large windows, which depicted the corpse of a garden/courtyard. The skeletal trees and plants spooked me, they seemed to be trying to claw their way to Heaven, or something like that. I looked away from the windows.  
  
"Don't bother trying to tidy the yards," Crawford said, "They are past helping." No kidding.  
  
Through the next gilded door at the end of the hall was a kitchen. Pots and pans hung from nails in the walls, and bunches of herbs hung to dry in the windows. The room was hot and stuffy, heat was rolling of an oven in a corner. I wondered why none of the windows were open. Suddenly, a heavy-set woman burst from around a corner, a knife in one hand and the flopping corpse of a headless chicken in the other. She took no notice of us two wide-eyed spectators (Crawford's face didn't appear to have changed.) as she dropped the chicken on a countertop and proceeded to pluck the feathers off a handful at a time.  
  
"Ah, good," Crawford said, "Svetlana, meet the new servants, Dante and Sasha. They shall handle the cleaning from now on." Svetlana glanced at my father then me, gave a brief nod and a grunt, then took the knife and proceeded to gut the deceased poultry. Figures.  
  
"Come along then, you two," Crawford announced, after turning and swiftly walking forward once again, "You have much more to see and little time to see it."  
  
  
  
Crawford led us through the castle, keeping such a swift pace I thought my feet would drop off if I took one more step. He led us through dozens upon dozens of gloomy halls, dreary bedrooms, dank dining rooms, and my fair share of depressing bathrooms. We had our work cut out for us. Crawford paused when we had worked our way to the front hall again.  
  
"Sasha," Crawford said, for the first time speaking directly to me, "You will be given instructions on where and what to do from either myself, Svetlana, or your father, whomever needs you. You will follow those instructions to the letter, without question or dawdling. You will also not bother the master, should you see him. That goes for you also, Dante." Dad nodded mechanically. This was also the first time he'd mentioned the master.  
  
The last place Crawford took us was the servants' quarters. It was more or less another long, dark hall in the basement of the castle, only, this time, there were beds lined up along the sides of the walls. The beds were, however, separated by thin sheets of fabric. It was well into the night by the time the tour was finished, so Crawford instructed Dad and I to sleep, we'd have much work to do tomorrow. I didn't doubt him. I counted the number of beds, and found there was an extra one. I asked Crawford who the last one belonged to.  
  
"That bed belongs to Ivan. He's the farmhand around the castle. He barely comes inside, usually sleeps with the horses in the stable. I can't say that I blame him. You may meet him tomorrow." Crawford turned on his heel and left the room. I wondered if he ever slept. Figures.  
  
I sat down on my designated bed, Dad in his. He yanked the sheet between us before I even got a chance to wish him good night. I wanted to scream. In this place, the haunted castle of the beast lord, everything figured. Nothing I'd seen didn't belong in this hellhole except me. I knew in the bottom of my heart that if Dad and I stayed here, worked here, interacted with these dead on the inside people, I'd figure too. I would become just like them. Dead on the inside, a ghost of a person, all that dramatic crap. It would be me, if I stayed long enough. Not that I wasn't already on that road, been there for four, maybe even six years. But something in me had resisted, refused to go into the dark, to die. It was probably that little voice deep inside that still believed good things come to those who wait. It had kept me going, kept me trying to reach my father. But its power was ebbing, and this place sure as hell wasn't helping. I lied down on the bed, tears instead of screams slipped through my eyes, and I woke up feeling puffy and more tired than I'd ever felt.  
  
A/N: Whew, that was angsty wasn't it! Sorry about that, it'll lighten up soon. And sorry if this chapter is one long paragraph again, too. I'll try to figure out my computer and try again. I might squeeze out two chapters today, if this double-enter thingy works. Keep reading, and send me your advice, per favor! 


	3. Ivan

A/N: YES!! It worked!! Well, except for the dividers, but, hey, that's highly preferable to one long paragraph, isn't it? Anyways, I'm feeling industrious today, so I'm pumping out another chapter! Yay, for me! Maybe this one won't be quite so angst-ridden and maybe a little more humorous, I like to think I'm funny. I'll try the dividers again, I think. Here we go.  
  
I look like my mother; maybe that's why Dad hardly speaks to me. (A/N: So much for not being angsty. Here comes the lame exposition, a necessary evil, I'm afraid.) I've got her brown eyes, and her curly red- brown-gold hair that I yank into a messy, can't-tell-what's-holding-it-up- there ponytail when I'm working, as well as her slightly willowy, but not waifish, body. The only thing I got from my father was his narrow nose, which totally ruins mom's generous gifts, giving my face an odd, incorrect look. I hate my nose, but I loved my mother. I loved life with my mother, when Dad was whole, when Dad loved me. We weren't rich, but Dad was a gifted farmer. The money from his crops bought us a comfortable home, a strong horse and plow, and a fertile crop of land. Things were happy for a while.  
  
But good things never last, so, when I was twelve, Mama fell ill. Those two years, that's when I lost my hope and both my parents, while she slowly slipped away from me. Once we left home, though, I found some happiness. I was never one to wallow in sadness, most of the time, anyway. In the several towns, cities, and villages we breezed into, I went to the festivals. Dad never came, but I loved the music, food, colors, anything to distract myself from my life. I sometimes spent days following festivals, sleeping in the fields, or even with the performers, if they were friendly. I learned a cornucopia of folk songs, as well as how to play the lyre and flute, and juggle. The juggling skills actually came in handy at work: I could hold three dusters in one hand while drying a floor. I knew I wouldn't be seeing many festivals here.  
  
"Sasha!" called Crawford from the main hall. It was our third day of work, and I was on my hands and knees in the sweltering kitchen, scrubbing the bloodstained floor. Svetlana wasn't very neat with her butchery. I got up and gratefully made my way into the cool air of the main hall. Crawford was standing by the door.  
  
"Yes, sir," I said. Crawford didn't make me call him "sir," it was just habit from years of snooty, upper-crust bosses. Crawford didn't seem to mind, it had probably been a bit since he'd heard the respectful title so often.  
  
"I want you to clear the carriage yard of the weeds, all right?" I never understood why he asked if it was all right, he knew damn well I wouldn't say no.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And be done by lunchtime, Svetlana's making borscht." He did his little heel-turn and disappeared into the bowels of the castle. The questions pressed into my mind: where does he go? Is he talking to the master? And the inevitable: what's the master like?  
  
I made my way into the yard with the end of my stained apron in my hands. It made no sense for these questions to even pop up, I berated myself for them. It's no business of mine; I'm just the servant. I angrily ripped the overgrown roots from the dusty ground. The sun was out, but it gave no warmth due to the season. I couldn't see anything past the claw- trees, not a field, a road, nothing. It was creepy, after living around people so long, being so isolated. I didn't realize I had been staring out at the dense trees until I felt a tap on my shoulder.  
  
I jumped with a yelp and whipped around to face whatever was behind me. It was a boy, a little younger than me. He had dark brown skin, and tight, black hair, cropped close to his head. His near black eyes were next to blank, with the slightest hint of curiosity. I'd never seen anyone like him, let alone a boy. All the boys I'd known had been boisterous to the point of obnoxiousness, but this boy was so still, like stone. I was surprised to hear him speak.  
  
"Who are you?" only his mouth moved.  
  
"Sasha," was all I could say.  
  
"What are you doing here?" his voice was low and firm, like stone.  
  
"Picking weeds. I- I'm, I mean, me and my father are the new servants." I saw a glint of recognition in his black-brown eyes.  
  
"My father and I," he corrected, the slightest hint of a smile gracing his lips. I relaxed a bit.  
  
"You must be Ivan, 'm I right?" I wanted to go back to work, I had to get done before lunch, but his eyes held me with more strength than anything physical he could have attempted.  
  
"Yes," he answered in almost a whisper. He stepped back now, and I breathed again. I felt like I'd been underwater. Svetlana'd never talked that much, except to tell me what to do, "I work in the stable."  
  
"Yeah, Crawford told me. Said you even slept out there. What's the matter, not a fan of the indoors?" I gave him a smile, anything to lighten the atmosphere.  
  
"You could say that. I enjoy spending time with the animals, I get along better with them." That reminded me of my escapes to the festivals to get away from my father. What was he getting away from?  
  
"I know whatchu mean." No sense pressing the issue now when we'd just met. Ivan bent down and plucked up a weed from the ground, dropping it in my apron. I smiled appreciatively and continued my work. We worked in silence until lunchtime. Crawford stepped out onto the first step and looked surprised to see Ivan and me working together.  
  
"Time for lunch, Sasha," he paused, "Ivan. If you'd like to join us." Ivan dropped another weed in my apron and looked at Crawford, deliberating. He sighed and regarded the entire castle, like it was a daunting maze.  
  
"No," he said after a moment, "Not this time, Crawford."  
  
"You do know you are always welcome." Ivan again regarded Crawford.  
  
"I know, just, not today, all right?" He looked with an undecipherable emotion at the path that led to the stables. It could have been longing, but it may have been resentment, I couldn't tell.  
  
"Very well, Ivan. Come along then, Sasha." I trotted up the stairs, turning around at the top only to see Ivan's back as he ran to the stables. What was he getting away from?  
  
A/N: What's wrong with me? I must be in a seriously angsty mood right now! I didn't think I was, but there it is. Maybe because it's raining outside, or it's night, or I'm tired, or something like that. I don't even know why I made Ivan black, it just sorta popped up. Kinda interesting though, dontcha think? Hm, I wonder when I'll introduce Beast. Next chapter, the next? Who knows. Well, I've got to go to sleep. So, see yall next chapter, it'll probably be up soon. 


	4. The Courtyard and the Library

A/N: You people really don't read Author's Notes, do you? Sometimes I put IMPORTANT STUFF in here. Such as my request for advice about my Sasha/Beast quandary. Although I am extremely flattered with all the praise, I always whined to my friends who write how awesome it must be to get reviews (what an ego booster!) and now I know! So thanks, Chien, and Fire Pixie and Kristie (thanks for the advice, lol!), and all you other beautiful little, tattooed, gum chewing freaks out there. I guess I'll have to wing it as far as this next chapter goes. Here we go.  
  
Time passed, as it has a habit of, and I slipped into the grind that was paid-servitude.  
  
"Sasha! Dust dining room 24 of the west wing!"  
  
"Sasha! You missed a spot in the corner of bathroom 38, take care of it, please."  
  
"Sasha! Where did you put the broom with the good bristles?"  
  
(A/N: This is the last bit of lame exposition, I swear!) I didn't mind, I was used to the orders, it was what I was there for, right? I came to know most of the castle like the proverbial back of my hand. Nearly every room from the west end of the cellar's seamy underbelly to lofty observatory 6. I took small pleasures in the way bedroom 45 (which was painted a lovely peach color, it turned out) glowed with light from the afternoon sun, the discovery of rich velvet drapes in a ladies sitting room off dining room 20, and the skill and beauty of the statues in the dead courtyard. Crawford had said it was past helping, but I was never one to give up easily, especially when it came to my work.  
  
"If you really think you can save that wasteland, I don't see a reason to stop you, as long as you don't let it interfere when we need you." Crawford was an okay guy, as far as bosses go: nice about the orders, as well as the criticism, though not exactly lacking in dedication to his work or cynicism about that very subject.  
  
It was the one and only Crawford who approached me with a new order while I was fleshing out Operation: Rose Garden (as I had began calling my courtyard project). I had decided that I'd have to do the heavy clearing and weeding first, when I was fresh. Hopefully I could get Ivan to set foot inside the castle walls to help out, I'd barely seen any of him since our first encounter in the carriage yard. Then I'd go into town for some rose seeds, along with any other growing thing I could afford. I was greatly looking forward to the trip, for obvious reasons. Maybe there'd be a festival when I got there. I could only dream.  
  
"Sasha!" came the familiar cry as Crawford picked his way meticulously around the weeds, "I have something I need your help with." Was he stalling? Crawford? Stalling? My mind couldn't wrap itself around the concept.  
  
I rose from my musings of weed disposal and eyed Crawford, "Yes, sir?"  
  
"Ah, hm," he plucked a nonexistent hair from his uniform. Yup, Crawford was stalling. I had to contain my giggles, "Come with me, I'll explain on the way." My eyebrows lifted. A surprise, what could it be? I gathered my personal cleaning supplies, and followed Crawford expectantly.  
  
  
  
He led me through the castle, down the newly washed and swept halls and polished and buffed stairs. I'll admit it, Dad and my talent didn't end in the fields, we cleaned a good castle. We couldn't turn back the hands of time, as Crawford so encouragingly predicted Operation: Rose Garden's success rate, but the castle was at least decent now. I clearly saw how great our influence was as Crawford and I made our way through areas of the castle I hadn't seen. I could feel the darkness sink in around us like mist in one of my spookier folk songs.  
  
"Now," Crawford haltingly began again, "This is an important assignment, but you've shown your skill and I admire your ambition with the courtyard." Goodness, this must be serious.  
  
"Why me?" I had to know, "Why not Dad?"  
  
"Well," he said, abruptly stopping in front of a large door, hardly different from the others, "I wasn't sure, but I felt you could be of more service here." He spat out the sentence, like it was the best lie he could come up with. Okay, he wants to keep yet another secret, fine, it wasn't my business anyway, I was the help! Quit prying, Sasha, I scolded. Crawford swung open both the double doors of this new room. They opened without a squeak, which surprised me. This room had to have been used often. I craned my neck around Crawford to see into the room, but he seemed to be everywhere I tried to peek. (A/N: I'm having a touch of the writer's block, if you can't tell.) Finally, I pushed past him, and nearly fell flat on my face when I discovered exactly where I'd stumbled.  
  
"What is this place, Crawford?" I whispered. He quietly padded across the royal-blue carpeted portion of the mostly rich honey-colored hardwood floor.  
  
"This," he said just as quietly, "Is the master's library."  
  
A library, where they keep books. My mind had been turned to sludge under the sunlight that poured through the cathedral-size windows of the library. The master's library. I decided thought would be better accomplished after I gazed for a while. My eyes traveled along bookshelves that seemed to go up for miles. Ladders reached three quarters of the way up, ending in makeshift black iron balconies that made the rest of the gargantuan shelves accessible. Where there weren't shelves or ladders or swirls of alternating blue carpet or honey hardwood, there were deep, heavenly-comfortable looking armchairs. I'd never seen anything that looked so comfy, so inviting. What were fashionable were teeny, mostly wooden chairs with tiny cushions that couldn't seat a six year old comfortably. Also scattered around were stacks of books, some with pieces of paper sticking out to mark a spot in the book.  
  
Everything was spotless, I didn't see any reason for me, the help, to set foot in this haven, this Heaven-on-Earth.  
  
"Crawford, I don't understand. What do you want me to clean?" I turned to him. He had remained where he stood typical butler-style, gazing around at the library with a small smile on his face. I could tell the warm space calmed him like nothing else. I also had no doubt that this was probably where he went when he turned on his heel and disappeared. He looked at me, as if he'd forgotten I was there.  
  
"Clean?" he responded somewhat dreamily, I wondered if I sounded like that to him, as if I'd woken up from a truly delicious nap, "No, my dear," My dear!? What was it about this place, "I wanted you to help with the filing of all these books. The master, I'm afraid, isn't quite so organized as you seem to be, with all your plans for the courtyard and way of cleaning. I know you'll do a wonderful job with the library. The master and I shall be very grateful." Oh shit, I wanted to cry.  
  
"Crawford? Dad must not have told you." Crawford's eyes cleared slightly, and he looked at me straight.  
  
"Told me what? I should say, I never mentioned any kind of work like this, I simply thought you'd find it enjoyable." I hated to do this, but I had to be honest. I couldn't live with myself to bring harm to this Heaven.  
  
"Crawford, I can't read, or write. I'm just a farmer's daughter, let alone a servant's daughter. I never had a need. I never thought I'd have a need." I could feel tears rising. I didn't want to leave this place, not one little bit. I didn't care if it was the master's, that enigmatic prick! If I could even exist here, this soul-healing space, maybe I could undo the damage of the last six years. The thought made me feel, oh God, it made me feel! That alone was astonishing to me. The only time I'd felt like this was swaying to the particularly beautiful chords of my favorite songs around a bonfire with the performers. Or even earlier, being rocked to sleep in my mother's arms.  
  
"Oh," Crawford frowned, "Well, I suppose we don't need you wasting more time her-"  
  
"Crawford, please!" I found myself nearly sobbing, "Is there ANYTHING else I could do here? Anything at all, dust, scrub, I'll even scale those windows and clean every inch of them if you'll just let me be here. I don't care if you only let me spend five minutes, I'll do it." I furiously swiped at the tears, I didn't want to subject poor, defenseless, unsuspecting Crawford to my inner turmoil. I was nearly nose-to-nose with the elder man, so close he felt the need to take hold of my shoulders to steady me.  
  
"All right, Sasha, all right," he said this slowly and soothingly. Augh, he probably thought I was loosing it! "Calm down now, child. If you want to work here, I'm sure this place could use a dusting, um, somewhere. You see, I usually do the cleaning myself here. The master is somewhat sensitive about who I let into the library. It's something of his inner sanctum, to say the least, I'm afraid." I backed up and took a few deep breaths, in two three four, out two three four.  
  
"Do you mean, the master said I was allowed here?" I didn't realize I hadn't stopped backing up until I dropped into one of the armchairs. Wow, now that was a chair. I sank slowly, sweetly into the chair. My eyes drooped shut of their own volition. What was I so upset about just then? I dunno. Something dumb. I had better things to think about, like how comfortable this chair was. Wait, no, it wasn't something dumb, it was the fact that I may never see this place again! I ripped myself from the warm embrace of the chair. If I'd had to get up from that chair in any other place in this castle, it would have been torture. But not here, it was one warm embrace to another.  
  
Crawford had waited politely while I took a few steps away from the chair, just to be safe.  
  
"Yes, he did." The tone of finality was about as subtle as a stone wall. I nodded, once again letting him have his secrets.  
  
"So," I said with a sigh, "Do I get to set foot in here, or not?" I looked around, suddenly I was tired of being polite, "Huh? I said, 'can I stay here or not'?!" I cried to the ceiling. I stopped myself, I won't rant and rave around, not now. Absolutely not now. Crawford, bless him, pretended not to notice who I was really talking to.  
  
"Yes, Sasha, you can stay here. As long as it doesn't interfere with your other work."  
  
"Thank you, Crawford."  
  
A/N: Wow, that was longer than I thought it'd be. But it turned out okay. Well, I successfully avoided Sasha and Beast's meeting once again. I'm giving you guys ONE MORE CHANCE to send me some advice. It would really help me out. Okay, that's enough for now. 


	5. Our Favorite FunCouple

A/N: Okay, I don't think I can put off the crossing of paths of our favorite fun-couple any longer. I tried, but I don't think I can wait any more. A mess o' thanks to Chibi Hime and Night Owl for their advice (sorta anyway, lol), you guys are the only reviews I got! **sigh**, I shouldn't expect reviews for every chapter, I didn't review every one when all I did was browse, and I shouldn't expect it from all of you. But you guys, at least those who haven't written, don't understand what a FAN-FREAKIN'- TASTIC feeling it is to get good reviews. If everyone in the world could have, like, five minutes of that feeling, the world would be a better place. Here we go.  
  
  
  
So I started working alongside Crawford in the library. I wasn't ridiculously surprised to see that Crawford understood my need to visit Heaven. He even set aside a time for me to do some cleaning there: after lunch to two o'clock. During that time, nobody could ask me to do anything else. I was beginning to feel a real kinship with the elderly butler, being that Dad wasn't exactly a model father figure. While dusting shelves and polishing the hardwood, I recounted tales from my festival days, as well as shared a few of my folk songs, my voice ringing up to the ceiling, and even confessed my sadness about Dad. He soaked all this information up like a new sponge, laughing at my stories and being silently supportive during my sometimes-raging monologues about everything from the death of my mother to a stubborn stain in the kitchen.  
  
Obviously, I began to learn my way around the library itself, despite my illiteracy (A/N: Go me! I spelled it right on the first try!). I memorized the shelves by what color the book was on the end of the bottom shelf. Fortunately they were all different colors. Sometimes, while cleaning the windows, I'd have an Ivan-sighting. I'd spot him carrying bags of grain to the animals, or working some dirt out of a horses hoof. I'd wave, and he'd nod, never saying anything.  
  
  
  
One day I decided it was time to ask for his help with Operation: Rose Garden. My time in the library was had just ended, so I was feeling blissful and able. I squared my shoulders and strode out to the stables. The stables themselves were pretty average, two wooden buildings with feeding troughs and places for the animals to sleep. Also a fenced-off chicken coop and pigsty.  
  
After searching for a moment, I found him refilling the trough for the chickens with grain.  
  
"Ivan?" I said, hoping I wouldn't startle him. He didn't even move for a moment, until I was just about to call to him again. By then he'd finished refilling the trough. He set down the bag and looked me straight in the eyes, just as he had in the carriage yard. Once again, I felt my breathing go shallow, like drowning.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
I took a few gulps of air, all the capability instilled in me from the library had deserted me, "I was wondering," I looked away to try and compose myself. This just made him impatient.  
  
"Was there something you wanted, Sasha? I've got a sick pig in the sty that I have to see to." He hopped over the fence of the chicken coop and quickly started making his way to the pigsty. I jogged after him and didn't catch up until he'd stopped by the door that led into the shed attached to the sty. He stopped and froze me in my tracks again with his eyes. Uh oh, I had to get this out before I couldn't speak again.  
  
"IwaswonderingifyouwouldhelpmecleartheweedsinthecourtyardsoIcanstartanewrose garden." (A/N: That was hard to type.)  
  
"Do you need my help now?"  
  
"Not if you're busy."  
  
"How about I help you tomorrow morning, this pig's in somewhat bad shape and needs attention for the rest of the day."  
  
"Okay." I turned and left the stables. Sweet Jesus is he hard to talk to! But at least I'd gotten my answer.  
  
  
  
Night had fallen, and I was helping Svetlana scour the dishes from dinner. The only way to describe working with Svetlana is that it's probably as close to being in the army as one can get without enlisting. The woman made less small talk than Ivan. My work in the kitchen was probably the exact opposite of my work in the library. When I left there I felt relaxed, happy, and was always smiling broadly, when I left the kitchen I felt hot, tired, and annoyed.  
  
She wouldn't even let me crack a window to battle the oppressive heat. I mused about possible reasons why: she was from southern Italy and it made her less homesick if the kitchen was three degrees away from the fiery Inferno, or maybe she felt it was healthy for food to be cooked right on the table, not in an oven. I entertained these thoughts while drying and storing the immense pots she used. Crawford popped his head into the kitchen, wincing at the blast of heat.  
  
"Sasha? Could you come here a minute?" I bolted from the kitchen, leaving a pot's top spinning on the countertop.  
  
I sucked in cool, sweet air in the hall before asking what Crawford wanted.  
  
"I'd like you to fetch a certain book for me, if that's all right?" he said. Oh God, he'd forgotten.  
  
"Crawford, you know I can't read. How'm I gonna get a book for you if it won't even do me any good to know what it's called?" Crawford didn't answer right away; he produced a piece of paper that had something scribbled on it.  
  
"Just look at this, it has the title on it, all you have to do is look for a title that looks like this. I know it's in the blue bookcase, possibly third shelf from the bottom. If you can't find it, that's all right, I can get it in the morning." Oh great, to make my stay in the kitchen complete I will now go to my favorite place to do something I know I can't do! At least I'm going alone, so no one else can observe my hopeless stupidity as I wonder around looking for a book whose name I can't even say!  
  
"Okay, Crawford. But don't get your hopes up." I turned and began my journey through the dark castle to the library.  
  
"Once you find the book," Crawford called after me, "Leave it in the servants' quarters! My bed is the second on the right side!"  
  
  
  
I walked the halls of the castle a little more warily. I'd never been down to the library at night, and it was very dark. Dad and my cleaning of the castle had progressed nearly to the library, but not all the way. As I neared my destination, I found the darkness so cold and haunting that I took off my apron and wrapped it around my shoulders for warmth. Every so often there'd be small candelabras whose light traveled about a foot and a half from their origin. I decided a foot and a half of light was better than nothing, so I snagged one off the wall and resumed my mission.  
  
I sighed in relief when I'd finally made it to the library, and, holding the candelabra away from the wooden door, pushed my way into the room. My stomach churned as I took in the sight of the library at night. Moonlight poured through the cathedral windows, illuminating everything with it's backwards sunlight. Again, along the walls, small candelabras created orange circles of light. However, there were also standing candelabras next to all the armchairs, for late-night reading I supposed. I padded to the blue bookcase, which had the moon shining directly into it. That's lucky, I thought, only half believing myself. I looked at Crawford's note and sighed, not making heads or tails of the scribbles on it. This is going to be soooo much harder than Crawford said, I whined in my head. Knock it off and just do it, you gigantic wuss, my bossy mind-voice countered. I sighed and again scrutinized the note. Okay, here we go, I thought, an up-and-down line with another side-to-side line over it, gotcha. And another line with a hump coming out of it. Now an almost circle but an opening. Another line goes across it. Greeeeaaat. I scanned the third shelf for a book with anything like that at the beginning. I counted twenty-five books with that exact thing at the beginning. Oh, for Christ's sakes, my mind cried.  
  
Just then I heard a noise, something big. My head snapped up from its deliberations over the note. Oh God, what should I do?! Should I call out, ask who's there? Yeah, sure, great defense, genius, scoffed the bossy mind- voice. How 'bout, it continued, you tie yourself up and hop over to them too, just to save them the trouble? Okay, fine, snapped my other voice, YOU come up with something! I crept to the end of the bookshelf, peeking around the corner to where the noise had come from. It had sounded like somebody shifting in a seat. Ivan, come for a bit of light reading, my mind suggested, but the thought was thrown out almost immediately, since when had I seen Ivan inside, let alone the library! The master's inner sanctum, to say the least! Well, you don't know what he does at night, it debated. That was true, but this didn't sound like a boy shifting, it sounded like a beast shifting. Oh God, the thought struck me with a great force, what if it's the MASTER come for a bit of light reading! Well, another voice said solidly, then I guess I'll finally meet him. Oh, to be as sure of myself as my mind thought I was! I again looked around the corner, the thought of the master had sent my head back into hiding behind the bookcase. It was time to be brave, but it was so hard with all the darkness and frightening folk songs that ran around my head from the village about the beast lord.  
  
My mind became a completely blank abyss at the actual sight of the master, the man, oops, creature, that had toyed with my nightmares and still fascinated me since Crawford first mentioned him. By the way, I had had little experience with beasts. Sometimes, while traveling through the smaller villages, we'd see a giant or dragon roaming the hills, or spot a pixie flitting around the bushes, but not a flat-out, no frills beast. He looked all right to me, which was the mind-erasing part. He was lounging in one of the chairs, legs spread out comfortably, head supported by a clawed hand, reading a book. He wore a simple, white shirt with the arms cut off, his arms looked long and strong, the arm not on his head draped across that of the chair. He wore no shoes, and his pants were simple, cut-offs whose tatters hung by his knees. His legs were long and sinewy. His feet were more paws, with very dangerous-looking claws that I guessed were retractable. His fur was a deep orange-gold, and covered his whole body. His head was only slightly larger than a human's, I'd guess he was about six and a half feet tall. He had a brown-black mane, and a mouth that, well, I couldn't decide if it was more lion-like or human-like. I wondered how sharp his teeth were. His hand on his head shadowed his eyes. I smiled at the sight of a lion's tail that slowly drifted back and forth between his legs.  
  
Suddenly his nose twitched, and he was staring right at me, his hackles rose showing sharp white teeth that glinted in the candlelight. My jaw dropped and my heart jumped when the combination of candle and moonlight illuminated his eyes. Wow, they were amazing. Fiery amber, the pupils flashing an incandescent green that I'd seen in cats' eyes at night. Some people felt that the green was a sure sign of possession by the Devil, but I thought it was the most beautiful color, besides this blue-tinged amber. Slowly, the master got up, and I felt my pulse pump at the sight of him upright. I had been wrong, he was easily seven feet tall, and his arms and legs were all muscle, not an ounce of fat on 'em. His hackles dropped, and his body relaxed, his brow creased as he took a look at me. This gave him a very human look of general curiosity and confusion. I felt myself drawn out the rest of the way from behind the bookcase, my heart popping off so strongly, I thought it'd blow right outta me.  
  
"What are you doing awake now?" his voice was a rumble of thunder, pure and simple.  
  
SPEAK, damn you! Don't clam up! "Crawford asked for a book." I was surprised to hear my own voice. I sounded shell-shocked, but at least it was something. He cocked his head in confusion. I felt a smile creep upon my lips despite myself. It was such a boyish gesture, that cock of the head.  
  
"Crawford told me you couldn't read." Hmph, so Crawford and the master had been having a conversation or two about yours truly? His brow furrowed deeper, "What's so funny?" he rumbled defensively. The smile dropped off my face. Oh, so we're going to be a cranky master, are we? My own brow creased in annoyance.  
  
"If you must know, I've never seen a grown man cock his head like that," I could feel he was about to protest my statement that he was a man, but I kept talking, "It was a very boyish and endearing thing to do. I don't know why Crawford sent me on this errand, and to be honest, I'm having a mess of trouble with it due to the aforementioned fact that I'm illiterate." Where was I getting all this? Suddenly I'd become as haughtily talkative as one of my former bosses wives at a dinner party.  
  
He studied me for a moment, both our brows continuing in their furrowed state. If this was a staring contest, I was game. The silence continued with neither of us blinking. Then he growled, "I can help, if you'd like." He still hadn't blinked, but I took the statement as an admission of his defeat.  
  
I smiled and replied, "Absolutely. That'd be very kind of you, master." His nose twitched at the title.  
  
"I've never enjoyed being called master."  
  
"Well, what do you want me to call you?"  
  
"I suppose," he replied, the growl not far from his voice, "Beast will do fine." I pursed my lips.  
  
"Beast? That will not do fine. I'm not calling anyone 'Beast.' How demeaning is that?" I couldn't believe my courage. I felt more comfortable in his presence every second, and couldn't understand why.  
  
"You will do as I say!" he barked. I felt a spark of sadness well up inside. There it was, the enforcement of rank. He's the boss, I'm the help, and I will do as he says. My eyes narrowed, and I dropped into the elaborate curtsey taught to me by Lady Grottenbaum.  
  
"Yes, Beast." I turned and retreated back to the bookcase where Crawford's book hopefully resided. Beast, ugh, I hated to think of him that way, followed me.  
  
"Where is it?" he rumbled behind me. I could almost hear the apology in his voice, but it may have just been the ever-present growl in every word he spoke.  
  
"Crawford said third row from the bottom. Here," I handed him the note, "he told me to look for the title. But I can't make heads or tails of that thing."  
  
"Well, that's not surprising." I could see Crawford's dry wit had worn off on him. Was that a crack about my illiteracy? I sincerely hoped not, I wanted to like this guy, "Crawford's handwriting may as well be Chinese calligraphy, I can barely read it. But, wait a moment." He took the candelabra from my hand, and walked sideways down the shelf, nearly having to double over to peer at the titles on the spines of the books. He was making his return trip to me when he stopped and plucked a small, brown book out of the shelf, carefully, so as not to scratch the cover with his claws. He must have to do that for every page of every book he reads, I thought. He walked back to me, handing me the book, "The Flight of the Masters, yeah, I think that's it. It's one of Crawford's favorites." I looked at the cover of the book sadly, the symbols on it meant so little to me. I was suddenly cranky.  
  
"Okay," I said more sharply than I'd wanted, "thanks for the help, I'll make sure Crawford gets this, good night." I held the book to my chest, took the candelabra, and began to walk to the door. But I nearly dropped to the floor when I felt a very heavy, warm hand on my shoulder. I turned slowly, and the hand didn't leave.  
  
"Do you want to learn to read?" Beast said quietly, his amber eyes soft.  
  
"Yes, I do, very much." I wanted to be able to take advantage of the library, with all my heart. I knew what was in books: stories. I loved stories, like in my songs. But I only knew so many songs, and even those were fading in my memory.  
  
"Do you want me to teach you to read?" My eyes widened. This kindness, this compassion, had been suspiciously absent from the villagers' stories and songs. All they ranted about was horrifying looks and a heart of stone, not to mention an appetite for human flesh. But Beast's drop dead gorgeous eyes held no hunger, that was for damn sure.  
  
"Okay." ABSOLUTELY, was what I wanted to shout to the ceiling of this magical place.  
  
"You can meet me here at night, I wouldn't want me to interfere when they need you." That brought me down a bit, remembering that there was a world outside Beast's eyes. One that involved a catatonic father, and, of course, paid servitude. I found myself hating that place. I didn't want to leave where I was now, I could see my reflection in Beast's eyes.  
  
"You're right."  
  
"Okay." His hand left my shoulder, exposing it again to the cold. I'd forgotten it was cold in here. I wanted his hand back, to keep me warm, to protect me. Ugh, my head murmured in disgust, get over yourself. Time to go, servant girl. Stop bothering the master.  
  
"Okay." I replied more to the commanding voice in my head than to the master, I mean Beast.  
  
"Good night, Sasha." Why was my head dizzy, all he said was my name, for God's sakes! He disappeared into the darkness outside my foot and a half of light.  
  
"Good night, Beast." I disappeared out the door and eventually into the servant's quarters, where I left Crawford's book on his bed and climbed into my own. Dreams of amber eyes with myself in them floated in my sleep.  
  
  
  
A/N: Happy? Beast and Sasha met. That was a nice chapter, if I do say so myself. I hope all you who didn't review the last one are still reading and get to enjoy this one. I still wanna know, do I have a chapter from Beast's p.o.v or not? See you guys, review w/ advice if you feel the urge! ^^ 


	6. One Baby Step at a Time

A/N: I've decided not to wait for people to review, I just read the last chapter and wanna continue now, while I'm feeling creative. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to have a Beast p.o.v chapter, maybe the next one. Even if I do have one, there won't be many. Just a little warning to those aching to hear from Beast. Still, I want you guys' input, so don't hesitate to review w/ advice on the p.o.v matter. Thanks as always for the quick review Chien, it's nice to hear from you again ^^. By the way, I've decided to screw the dividers, they weren't working. This is better anyway, dontcha think? Here we go.  
  
  
  
I woke up feeling only a little less shell-shocked than I had last night. I could tell from the spot of light that came through the well windows of the servants' quarters that it was well past when I usually woke. I got up, dazed, finding myself still in my dingy gray dress and apron. Ugh, I must have really been out of it! That's never happened before, not even when Mom died. A few more unanswerable questions drifted around my fuzzy mind. I wondered if maybe I'd dreamt it all, the moonlit library, the book, the master, I mean Beast. I guess I'd have to wait until night fell. I really hoped I hadn't dreamt it, I'd feel awfully dumb sitting in the library, waiting for some dream to emerge from the darkness and teach me to read. Well, the solid mind-voice said, of course, IT was wide-awake, time to work. No more daydreaming about him, you've got a garden to create. Oh yeah, the garden! I hurriedly changed into my other dress, still using the old apron, and dashed up the stairs, through the halls, and into the kitchen to grab something to eat before the yard work commenced. Svetlana was wiping down the table in the kitchen that we had breakfast at every morning.  
  
"You are late," she said.  
  
"Yeah, Svetlana, I'm sorry about that. I didn't get to sleep until late," that wasn't a bald faced lie, I'll have you know, "Is there anything left to eat?" She tossed me an over-ripe, round fruit of some kind.  
  
"That's all. Don't sleep in, you eat more." She hefted an impressive pile of pots onto her hip and bustled into the closet where we kept the biggest pots, those that couldn't be hung up.  
  
"Okay, thanks," I said, eyeing the fruit for brown spots. I wasn't disappointed. Oh well, better than nothing, I thought, down the hatch. I chomped into it and, with a mouthful of over-sweet pulp said, "If Crawford asks, I'm in the courtyard making a paradise outta a wasteland."  
  
  
  
I found Ivan already working, bless his stony little heart.  
  
"Morning, Sunshine!" I said cheerfully. I was feeling better by the minute, excited about the project, as well as the possibility of the ending my illiteracy.  
  
"What?" Ivan replied. He had already (A/N: Wow, that's weird. A fog just rolled in. No joke, just this completely random fog, right outside the window.) created a few good-sized piles of weeds and dead plants around the courtyard. The courtyard itself was really a garden with stone pathways winding through it. Every so often there would be sitting places with small tables, or benches with statues. The statues themselves could be found in no place in particular. You could come across an elaborate bust of a beautiful woman right in the middle of one of the gardens, ivy draping over her face like a veil.  
  
"So, any particular plans come to pass while I was sleeping?" Ivan paused in the middle of his deliberations with a small dead tree.  
  
"Well, I decided we can just leave the weeds we pick in piles next to the garden we find them in. Then, well, I suppose a compost heap is the best thing to do, as far as disposal goes. We let the weeds rot in their own box," he clarified for me, "that way, we get fresh soil for the other plants."  
  
"I know that Ivan. I should tell you that Dad was a farmer before a servant, so I know my way around a compost heap." He looked at me, a little embarrassed.  
  
"I didn't know that."  
  
"I know, Ivan. So, all this sounds good. Where do you want me to start?"  
  
"That corner," he pointed to a spot in the farthest corner of the courtyard where the weeds were still thick.  
  
"Gotcha," I replied, taking a trowel and beginning work. Ivan continued his battle with the dead sapling, "So," I said, desperate to save this from becoming a kitchen-like chore, "How's that sick pig you mentioned yesterday?"  
  
"Fine, she had a cold, but it wasn't serious." Ugh, God! How was I going to catch his interest? I had no more bright ideas for a while, and, although I did work many a weed out of the tired soil, I wanted conversation, like with Crawford in the library. I wanted to create a library-like space in the courtyard, but maybe that was an impossible dream. That gave me another conversation idea.  
  
"I can't wait to get the flowers for the gardens. It's been so long since Dad and I were in the village." I glanced over at Ivan, we had moved closer and closer together during our work. He was looking at me.  
  
"You're going into town?" he said quietly. I couldn't read his emotion.  
  
"Well, yeah," I replied, "Where else am I gonna get flowers and stuff? I'm really looking forward to it, too. Do you know if there're any festivals coming up? It'd be great to catch one."  
  
"No. I don't know." Conversation over. These people were really not good with their subtlety.  
  
  
  
We worked in silence until Svetlana needed my help for lunch. I breathed a sigh of relief; all the silence was driving me crazy. Just another hour or two until I could go to the library. It was the usual, borscht. Svetlana only showed her culinary muscle for dinners.  
  
Walking into the library, I was amazed at the differences from last night. It was still a warm, incredibly inviting and relaxing place, but the magic of it had dimmed. Maybe because I could see everything. In the dark, the bookcases were beyond size, disappearing into the purple-black of night. I would never have guessed there were balconies up there. Crawford was wiping down the side of the orange bookcase, up on one of the ladders.  
  
"Need any help, Crawford?" I said. He seemed to be having a time stretching all the way around the bookcase.  
  
"Don't mind me, Sasha. By the way," he grunted as he made another large swipe at the bookcase, "Thank you for finding that book, it's one of my favorites."  
  
"Yeah, Beast told me." Hm, maybe I shouldn't have said that. Crawford climbed down the ladder with surprising speed and was staring at me while I went about dusting the shelves of the green bookcase.  
  
"So," he said nonchalantly, which was a feat in itself, "You met him?"  
  
"Yup, he helped me find the book." He wants to be nonchalant, he's just met the master, "He said your handwriting might as well have been Chinese calligraphy." I chuckled at the memory. I wondered why I hadn't found that funny last night. I guess I was too worried he'd take a crack at my illiteracy. Hopefully I wouldn't have to worry about that again, if Beast's offer was anything to go on.  
  
"I am sorry about that. I tried to be neater so you would understand."  
  
"Well, you should work on that, if you want to send me on more errands. Actually, don't work on it. It won't matter soon. Beast said he'd teach me to read. Isn't that nice of him?" I didn't wait for the answer, which I got the feeling wasn't coming.  
  
  
  
Breathing in the hall after cleaning dinner dishes had to be one of my favorite things in the entire world, next to working in the library. I sucked in the sweet air gratefully, before half-sprinting down the halls to my favorite place. Oh God, I hope he's there. I could barely feel the cold that was draped over the castle at night. I was breathing hard when I finally reached the great door. I took a moment to compose myself before calmly pulling open the door and entering.  
  
It was exactly as it had been. Moonlight poured into the library, while an orange accent was added by the candelabras. I wondered who lit them, but assumed it was Crawford. I admired his dedication. I had no idea where to meet Beast; the library seemed ten times larger at night. I took a candelabra, more for comfort than light, and began to wander. I walked down the blue bookcase, where Crawford's book had been. I turned the corner and saw Beast there, in the same seat he had been the night before. I smiled; glad to have found him myself, not the other way around. I wasn't sure how I'd have reacted to him materializing out of the darkness in front of me.  
  
"Beast?" I said, not wanting to surprise him.  
  
"There you are." I smiled wider; I'd been waiting to hear his quietly thunderous voice again all day.  
  
"So? Did you mean what you said last night?" This brought his eyes, glinting dangerously, to mine.  
  
"Of course. Why would I lie to you?" Oops, I shouldn't have said that.  
  
"I don't know. Are we gonna get started?" I sat down on the armchair next to Beast's.  
  
"Yes," he replied, "I figured the best place to start is in the beginning-"  
  
"You think?" I was beginning to feel silly about this whole arrangement.  
  
"Yes," he countered, "I DO think."  
  
"Sorry, I'll be quiet," I wasn't as repentant as I sounded. It was nice to finally find someone who didn't just suck up any insult or sarcastic comment I shoveled out, but threw it back in my face like I deserved.  
  
He didn't respond to my apology, "The beginning being the alphabet."  
  
"The what?" I said, watching him pull out a piece of paper and a pencil (A/N: I don't know what they used to write with back then, so just picture a pencil as a stick of lead.)  
  
"The alphabet," he replied, "is what you use to form words, which form sentences, then paragraphs, and maybe essays, or letters, or even poetry. It all starts with the alphabet." Oh man, this would be harder than I thought. Beast took the pencil and began to write. The symbols were slightly familiar, though they had no meaning. They were more or less the same as the titles of the books and Crawford's note, only a lot less flowery. I was glad for that, he had much neater writing than Crawford.  
  
He stopped writing, the page was half-full of symbols, "The alphabet is made up of twenty-six letters, each with a different sound. If you want to learn to read, you have to memorize what each sounds like, as well as how to write them."  
  
"Okay." I forced myself to think about how much better it would be when I could read and write, while reminding myself that it wouldn't be easy. I had that to thank the servant's life for: I was no stranger to hard work, and, for fear of losing my job, would keep working until I got it right.  
  
"We're going to take this one letter at a time, but don't get frustrated, slow is best when it comes to learning these things."  
  
"Okay." I took a deep breath and focused on the first symbol, I mean letter.  
  
He pointed to it, saying, "This is the letter A. Words that start with A are words like air, animal, things like that. Now, I want you to write A like I did," he pulled out another paper, "on this page." He held out the pencil. I bit my lip. This was going faster than I thought! He's already having me write? I took another breath. Don't quit now!  
  
"Okay, you're the boss." I took the pencil and put it between my fingers in my right hand. It felt really unfamiliar. I put the tip of the pencil to the paper.  
  
"Wait," Beast said, nearly scaring me shitless.  
  
"What?!" He took my hand, rearranging my fingers so that the shaft of the pencil laid on the left side of my middle finger, me thumb and forefinger balancing it. Why was my heart popping off again? It was really annoying. I was trying to learn something here, and I felt like I had developed a weak heart within fifteen seconds of contact with Beast.  
  
"There," he said, my fingers in a satisfactory position, "You'll write better with your hand that way."  
  
"Thanks." I once again put the tip of the pencil to the paper. Okay, here we go, I studied Beast's A. I could do this, easy. I drew one line up, slanted slightly to the right. Okay, the next line slanted slightly, meeting the first at the top. Oops, the second line's a little too short. I went to fix it, but Beast's hand covered mine.  
  
"Don't worry about correcting mistakes now," he said quietly, "Just get the letter on the page." He let go.  
  
"Okay." I finished the A with the small side-to-side line in the middle. My hand jerked suddenly, making the small line too long. Yuck, it looked kind of like Beast's A, if you had a sense of humor.  
  
"Good," Beast said, sounding pleased. I liked the way his voice rumbled as he spoke, "Very good, especially for the very first try." I smiled, happy with myself.  
  
"Okay," I said, "On to the next letter, right?" I wanted to continue, now that I had A down.  
  
"Wrong, I told you before, one letter at a time. That's all we'll do tonight." I stared at him, my brow creased.  
  
"Why? I'm ready for the next letter, I can do it!" I knew I could, I didn't have to wait!  
  
"No, you're not ready," he said, his voice maddeningly calm, "You haven't learned A. You may think you have, but you haven't. I want you, in your spare time, of course, to look at your letter A, and write it over and over on this paper, until you know it inside and out. Then, we'll start on the next letter."  
  
"Okay, fine. You're right, I know you're right. I'll do it."  
  
"Good. I told you you'd get frustrated," he suddenly smiled broadly, his fangs glinting in the candlelight, "Now, I think we can have some fun."  
  
"Huh?" I was mystified. He turned around in his chair, and pulled out a book.  
  
"I'm going to read to you, if you'd like me to." He looked up at me, I could see the hope in his spectacular eyes. Wow, he really loved to read, didn't he?  
  
"Sure, what's the book?" It was fairly thick, and old too.  
  
"An oldie, but a goodie, I think you'll like it. If you like action," again the questioning but hopeful eyes.  
  
"Yeah, I like action as much as the next girl."  
  
"Good." He began reading. All at once I was caught up in Homer's, as I found out later, writing. At first it was hard to follow, separating descriptions of people from places and things. It seemed that every time somebody met somebody, they'd go through this ridiculously long conversation about how great the other one was. Talk about butt kissing, they were worse than Dad during an interview. But Beast was right, the action was incredible. I found myself leaning closer and closer to Beast's voice, like a flower to the sun. I nearly fell out of my seat when Beast snapped the book shut.  
  
"That's all for tonight, it's late." He stood up, as did I, blinking away the adrenaline pumping through me.  
  
"Okay, that was fun." Beast gathered up the papers, then stood still, his arm bent inward. I looked from his arm to his face questioningly. What did he think he was doing?  
  
"Anytime you wanna stop torturing me is just fine," he said, not looking at me.  
  
"If you insist," I said hesitantly, slipping my arm through his. I bent my head to hid the smile lurking around my face. Wow, look at me, the help, arm in arm with the master. He took a candelabra and strode through the blue bookcase and toward the door. I thanked God for my long legs, the thought of tripping on Beast's arm nearly made me trip.  
  
He led me all the way back to the servants' quarters entrance. I wiped the stupid little smile off my face before I faced him.  
  
"Thanks," I said. Feeling much more comfortable than I thought I would have in this kind of situation.  
  
"Good night, Sasha." Ugh, he just had to say my name in that rumbly way of his, making my head go all dizzy again.  
  
"Night," I replied, keeping my eyes focused on his, so I didn't fall over.  
  
"Don't forget your pages." He thrust them between us quickly, and I took them, feeling confused.  
  
"Thanks," I murmured, looking from his page of letters, to my A. When I looked up, he was gone. Hmph, we'd have to talk about that.  
  
  
  
A/N: I didn't like that chapter as much as the last, which I guess makes sense, seeing as how the last one was so much more significant. I think another lame exposition filled chapter is coming up next, unless I get an overwhelming surge of Beast fan mail. See you guys, review if you feel like it! 


	7. The Beast Lord

A/N: You know, I told myself, "Don't write today, you've been writing so much, you could take a break, you SHOULD take a break." But no, here I am, less than twelve hours since uploading the last chapter, at my computer, typing away once more. I was actually planning on waiting a while, to let the Beast fan mail accumulate, to make a decision. But Chibi Hime and Night Owl made a good point: we don't know Beast very well, do we? And he is flat, you are totally right! To be honest, I didn't really want a cute, nice Beast. Those guys are SO BORING. And, although the angsty ones are less unique, they're a helluva lot more interesting. Oh, and by the way, they're reading The Odyssey. So, without further ado, a Beast p.o.v chapter. Here we go. (Sorry, nothing-brite, but I like my A/N's. It give me a chance to communicate with you guys. If you don't wanna read them, you don't have to.)  
  
  
  
What the HELL was going on here?! What happened to the plan? How did Crawford talk me into this "new servants will help my work" plot? I could have killed him, if he wasn't so good at cleaning and organizing the library. My mind wasn't ready to admit exactly why he still lived. Though, just maybe, it was how he still stuck around, through all my tantrums and abuse, all the hard nights. I wasn't proud of them, but they certainly showed who your true friends were. I stalked through the darkness, which could have been high noon for all my cat's eyes cared. My tail twitched back and forth as I passed by the bedrooms, dining rooms, bathrooms, and any other kind of room this God-forsaken castle held. I came to the only place that brought me peace now: the library.  
  
I threw open one of the doors and half-sprinted to my favorite chair, way in the corner of the library. I couldn't imagine how she'd found me here. It was so secluded, just below the light of one of the windows. I crashed into the embrace of my chair, that I'd picked myself after the transformation. Well, the one Crawford had told the merchant after I'd told Crawford it was the one I picked. The question still pressed my mind: had Crawford arranged this? How many times had he read The Flight of the Masters? Twelve, on my count. Had he really needed it, so late at night, when he knew I'd be up? Why would he have sent someone he knew to be illiterate? Why would he have sent a WOMAN he knew to be illiterate? And finally: what was she doing to me? Every time I was around her, it was like my entire being was flipped backwards. It was really quite the toss-up if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  
  
But still, what was it about her? She was just a girl, I'd seen girls before. I'd seen her before, wiping banisters and making beds that were never slept in. I'd been sure to keep to the shadows, I didn't want to alarm her. But, then, last night, she hadn't seemed alarmed. Nope, surprised maybe, not even very embarrassed to have been spotted. She'd just stared at me, with those eyes of hers. Christ, they'd been large, and brown, and deep. And those tight, red-brown-gold curls in her hair. Not to mention the smell of her, like flowers and floor wax. A clean forest. Knock it off, beast boy, my mind stopped that train of thought with a simple disgusted mutter. That very mind-voice was what had sent me off into the dark after I'd taken her back to the servants' quarters, and led me to stew here. Damn Crawford, for bringing her here to mess with my carefully fitted life. It wasn't easy being the beast lord, living in this dark, dank castle, but I did it, every damn day I kept at it. I stayed holed up in my castle, allowing the untrue rumors to fester and grow throughout the village.  
  
But the thing that scared me most about my double personality around Sasha, what a great name, STOP IT, was the fact that someday I would snap. Something she'd say, something I'D say, something would set me off. Then she'd see me for what I truly was, the dyed in the wool beast I'd become. What would happen then? Would she run for her life, out of the castle, away from me? Or worse, could something happen so bad I'd kill her? The thought sickened me. I hadn't killed a human, yet. I hunted for myself, no sense putting good claws and keen senses to waste. Plus, it kept the others fed. And, one or twice, I'd put a scare in travelers along the road, just for fun. But I'd never hurt them intentionally. Even in my strongest tantrums I hadn't attacked Crawford, at least with intent to kill. Maybe I was fooling myself to think I could actually kill another person. I hoped that was true, for Sasha's sake. My nose twitched suddenly, I had a yet another visitor, surprise, surprise.  
  
"Go to bed, Crawford," I growled the warning, but he didn't go. No, it wasn't in him. He sat down where Sasha had been sitting not ten minutes before, boring twin holes into me with her eyes, as I'd read.  
  
"How'd the first lesson go?" he asked, settling into the chair comfortably. Why did I allow him to treat me with such disrespect?  
  
"Just fine, Crawford. She's a bright girl who truly wants to read." No point holding back now, he wasn't going anywhere.  
  
"I figured as much. I could see it in her eyes while she cleaned, the envious way she regarded the books." I looked at him, now was the time to ask.  
  
"Crawford, did you set this whole thing up? In hopes that she-" I didn't bother finishing the sentence.  
  
"I can't say the notion didn't cross my mind," he replied, "I thought I wanted the book, but maybe my subconscious had other plans." Damn him and his half confessions! Without putting the blame on anyone else, he'd cleared himself of my wrath. I looked away, head down.  
  
"Don't tell me," he continued, his voice strangely resembling indignant anger as he sat forward, "that you didn't enjoy yourself, teaching Sasha to read. I refuse to believe you had not the least bit of fun around her. You two are so much alike it's impossible for you to not get along at least a little bi-"  
  
"Yes! All right?" God, his persistence was irritating, "She's a nice girl."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Aaaannnd," I groaned excessively, "I appreciated the way she didn't run in terror at the first sight of me."  
  
"Good enough." Crawford sat back again in his chair, briefly satisfied, "Yanking an emotion out of you other than anger and self-pity is harder than pulling teeth out of an elephant."  
  
"Well," I grumbled, "Congratulations on another job well done."  
  
"Thank you," he replied, nodding his head in as much of a mock bow as could be accomplished while sitting, "So, another lesson for tomorrow night?"  
  
"Of course," I snapped at him, "She wants to learn to read. And if I'm the only one fit to teach her than so be it. I'll have to get over my hang ups on my own."  
  
"Glad to hear it, Derrick." I cringed at the name. I hated it for the memories it brought. From my childhood, right up to the moment the curse was put upon me. My family, my friends, that is, the friends of my childhood. I looked back at the young, ridiculously stupid and callous ruler I'd allowed myself to become and was not shocked one tiny bit by the consequences I now suffered with. Albeit this was a rather unique situation, it would have happened anyway, figuratively or literally.  
  
"Go to bed, Crawford," I said once more. He rose, obediently for once. Maybe I didn't deserve obedience from him.  
  
"Don't do it, Derrick," he said. He could read me way too well, "Don't fall into some piteous shame spiral. I can see it coming a mile away, and I'll tell you once and once only, don't do it. It's not good for you, or anyone else in this castle." He left silently. He was right, absolutely right, there was no denying it. Well, I thought, rising from my chair, there's no way to escape a shame spiral like hunting.  
  
  
  
I breathed in and out in the night air, enjoying the myriad of smells, sights, and sounds that combined in my sensitive head, to paint a picture I could have seen had I been blind, deaf, or, hm, nose-less (A/N: Why isn't there a word for that??). Dead leaves all around I could smell, a stream three, maybe four yards away I could hear, and a fox's den with at least two cubs roughhousing inside I could see. Their mother must be hunting as well.  
  
I remembered the first time I'd left the castle after the transformation. It had taken me nearly half a year to come to terms with my new body, the tail, the claws. But when I'd stepped into the forest, I was nearly happy again. I thought, maybe the fairy had made a mistake, had gifted me with this hunter's body instead of cursed me. I now sprinted through the woods on my powerful legs, sometimes running on all fours because even that was comfortable now. My nose picked out a fat wild pig in the distance, my eyes zeroed in on it. All thought of Crawford, and the library, and even the memories, though not quite everything of Sasha drifted away. For some reason, thinking of her only gave me more energy for the hunt. I wasn't thinking with my head anymore, which was a good thing, because I never truly enjoyed hunting as a human. But now, ah, the rush of it! Never the best shot with a bow and arrow, my claws had deadly accuracy, without even trying!  
  
As I got within shouting distance of the pig, I slowed to a crawl, lulling it into a false sense of security. Ah, noble pig, how little you know. I was large, as far as predators go, but my stalking skills suffered little for my size. I was as silent as a breeze, not breaking a twig as I crouched on all fours, not twelve feet from the grazing pig. I could see the fur on its back ruffle as it caught the wind, smell it's breath as the breeze came down to me. I felt sorry for the mother fox, SHE would never be able to enjoy the hunt like this. I felt sorry for human hunters, THEY would never be able to enjoy the hunt like this. I stayed crouched, waiting for the right moment.  
  
NOW! I sprang from my hiding place, the pig in my teeth before it could let out a sound. One swift jerk, and the pig's suffering was over. Ah, yup, nothing like hunting to escape a shame spiral, my mind chuckled jovially as I trotted back to the castle, pig slung over my shoulder.  
  
  
  
A/N: There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: Beast! If you're wondering, the name Derrick will not be sticking around, I just felt that if anyone should know what his name is, it'd be Crawford. Oh, and sorry if some of you like Beast all cute and cuddly. If any of you do feel that way, STOP READING. It's as simple as that. Don't clutter up my review spot with flames, unless you get the overwhelming urge to demolish the self-esteem of a fellow human being. In that case, please don't sign it, so I can remove it at my leisure. Oh, by the way, Chien, if you want some more reviews, sign your reviews for True Beauty, I'll click on your name, and then I'll be able to read your stuff. Trust me, for being my very first total- stranger reviewer, not to mention those reviews being so GLEAMINGLY NICE, you can trust there'll be a review from me. K? Thanks to all you freaks out there for not ditching my story! ^^ 


	8. Interruption

A/N: This isn't a chapter; it's a tribute to 9/11. It's been buzzing around in my head like a bee, and now I can finally write. It only took ALL DAY. Here we go.  
  
(This was written on 9/11/02) A Year Ago Today:  
  
It's strange what I remember and what I don't about that day. I don't remember waking up, or eating breakfast, or what songs I heard on the radio or music videos I saw on TV. I watch music videos every day, so I have a good song stuck in my head for the rest of the day. I don't remember what those were. I don't remember what the schedule was that day, or even getting to school.  
  
The first thing I do remember is walking down the halls. My school is pretty crowded, so I was back to back in a throng of people. Two guys were talking behind me.  
  
"These people," one was saying, "don't even know there was a terrorist attack."  
  
I didn't know what they were talking about, I didn't even really care, and I had to get to class, wherever that was.  
  
The next thing I do remember is when our principal announced what had happened. I was in lunch, sharing a circular table with my friend Ramona and some seniors. At least, I'm pretty sure it was Ramona. Anyways, I don't remember what my principal said. But I do remember the face of the senior between Ramona and me. She was Asian, and I couldn't read her expression.  
  
The next thing I remember was getting home. I turned on the TV, and, shock and amazement; every channel was the same thing. The endless reel of the towers being hit and falling. There were also shots of the horrendous gash in the Pentagon. Even on my beloved VH1, where I had, only maybe five hours ago, had sang to whatever I had sung to. I pulled my cat Tut, who's dead now, into my lap. He was great at knowing when you were sad or sick, and didn't try to get away. That's all I remember about what happened a year ago today.  
  
  
  
Today:  
  
Today, I got up, and didn't even realize what day it was, even though it hadn't left my thoughts for the last week. I listened to the end of "With Or Without You" by U2, while doing my pushups and sit-ups. Then, there was Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" sermon being played over "In the Name of Love" by U2. Then I knew. Today, I listen to a favorite song on a CD, so I'm positive to have a good song stuck in my head. I listened to "May Angels Lead You In" by Jimmy Eat World. If you've ever heard the song, you know it was very appropriate under the circumstances. I shed a tear or two, the only to be shed by me that day. I'm not much for crying, except when I watch A Little Princess, but that's besides the point.  
  
I won't describe my entire day to you, but suffice it to say, we had a moment of silence in Concert Choir (the first had been in Art, but not on the same day, I don't remember what day it was). In American Government, we got a newspaper-like packet of 9/11 columns, I didn't read them, didn't want to get newspaper ink on my hands. We also got a magazine with 9/11 articles. Those were interesting. But I'd been dying to write this all day. I think that's all I want to say.  
  
  
  
A/N: I hope you'll see this interruption in the story for what it is, feelings I didn't get a chance to express on that day. I hadn't been registered yet here. I'd like to thank the creators of fanfiction.net for allowing this kind of expression to exist. I don't know what I'd do without it. I'd never been to the World Trade Center, or the Pentagon, I regret it so much. God bless you all, back to the story. 


	9. The Village

A/N: I have no real goal for this one; so I think it'll just be a short, lame exposition chapter, but at least some more time will pass. Beast p.o.v again, I flipped a coin ^^! Chibi Hime, a curse flashback will not occur for at least another chapter, I'm sorry. I've decided to make it, well, I probably shouldn't say. But you'll understand it's for the best. Okay, for nothing-brite, I'll cut this A/N short. Here we go.  
  
  
  
And so, all hang-ups aside, Sasha's lessons continued. My personality flipped once night fell. I waited for Judgment Day, the day I'd snap, but it didn't come. In fact, when I was with her, I felt none of the underlying annoyance I felt throughout the day. It melted away in the candlelight, under her gaze. We did lessons, I'd read, and then, sometimes, we'd talk. About nothing in particular, just things. I made it a ritual to hunt after I took her back to the servants' quarters, her hand warming my arm always. I was full of energy after lessons, aching for physical activity. Hunting was the best choice after seeing Sasha, although, deep in my mind, I had other ideas. I kept those to myself, myself being the darkest, most hidden corners of my thoroughly disgusted brain.  
  
"Why you hunt so much now?!" Svetlana barked at me, she had me cornered in the kitchen after I'd eaten dinner, "You get too much meat! I have no room, NONE, left to store food! And now with new girl and dark boy making new vegetables in courtyard with left over seeds, we have too much food! What I do with so much food?" She shook her hand in my face and turned to stew over the stove. I found myself wanting to laugh at Svetlana's frustration, though not in a cruel way. Strange. (A/N: I have little to no idea what nationality Svetlana is. Maybe she IS Italian, maybe Russian, hm. I'll leave it up to you guys.)  
  
So, Sasha and Ivan were at work in the courtyard? I'd have to stop by, see how it goes. I'd never felt particular interest for the gardens, maybe that's why they'd fallen into such foul disrepair. The image of Sasha nurturing the gardens back to health made me smile, it was so, her.  
  
  
  
"Beast?" she called, it was time for lessons. I appreciated how she was never late.  
  
"I'm here." I replied, relishing the feeling of the day's annoyances slip away as she emerged from the dark and sat down next to me.  
  
"I practiced," she said, smiling wide, "Check it out." She held her paper in front of me, capital and lower case C's lined half the page, while the rest was words that started with c. We'd finished the alphabet in capitals, and now progressed to lower case. I quickly realized that she had been right; she could've handled more than one letter a night- because she told me. The rest of the alphabet had gone very quickly after that night.  
  
"Looks good," I said, a smile creeping across my face. What's with all the smiling?! It would have annoyed me, if I hadn't been in the library, with Sasha. We started the next lesson, she griped about how much d was like b. Then we continued our book. We'd finished the Odyssey with her itching for more Greek myths. So I'd pulled out a book containing exactly that and started reading. This one was the story of Arachne, the girl who was turned into a spider after losing a weaving contest to Athena.  
  
"Those Greeks sure came up with some great names, huh? Arachne, Athena. Not to mention Odysseus, and Heracles, and Perseus. Hey," she said, suddenly sitting up from her leaning position on her elbows, "I've got an idea."  
  
"What is it?" I said, closing the book so I could pay complete attention to her. Her eyes were bright with a dawning comprehension of her idea.  
  
"What's your favorite Greek myth?" I was taken aback by the question. With all the time I'd spent in the castle over the years, carefully cultivating my beast lord image, I must have read every book in this library, twice. I reached back in my mind for an answer, what was my favorite? Hm, I'd have to say-  
  
"Jason and the Argonauts."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You haven't read it yet." I could feel her desire to correct me; I hadn't read it TO her yet. But I kept talking, "It's about a man who goes on a boat with these other people in search of the Golden Fleece. It's similar to the Odyssey, in a way."  
  
"Okay, then your name will be Jason from now on." I blinked at her.  
  
"What?" I was astounded, she'd named me. I tossed between feeling elated and flattered to insulted and striped of my decision to be called what I wanted to be called. Oh no, was this it? Don't snap, don't snap, don't snap. I looked at Sasha, her eyes were still glowing with the idea. I felt my insult slowly melt away, like ice in spring.  
  
"I told you what I thought about the name Beast, didn't I? It's a terrible thing to call anyone. And since you won't tell me your real name, I'll just have to come up with my own. It was still your choice, just be glad you didn't say Arachne, Jason." She chuckled at her joke. Jason, the name of a Greek hero, yes, I could deal with having that name. It brought no memories, except being warm and calm in the library, enjoying one of my favorite books. And now, it would forever remind me of Sasha, never a bad thing. But, maybe I should tell her my real name. She'd stopped laughing, and now was studying me. I realized that I hadn't answered her, I'd just been staring at her face while the laughter slipped away, but the joy remained.  
  
"Do you," I said hesitantly, "want to know my real name?" I couldn't decide whether I wanted her to say yes or no. She said neither for a while, just looked at me. Was this another staring contest? She spoke slowly, her voice and eyes soft.  
  
"Not yet, Jason. But, I think, someday. I can see you don't really, really want to tell me." I cringed, how did she know these things? "And that's okay. But, for now, I think I'll stick with Jason, Jason."  
  
======================================================  
  
I was so proud of myself for my idea. I couldn't stand another day of this man's name of all things getting in the way of his humanity. No more, now he's Jason. Kind, intelligent, gorgeous Jason. Gorgeous? Where the hell did THAT come from? Oh please, groaned my head, tired of the lies in my thoughts, can you just be honest to yourself, for once? This is getting ridiculous. It was right, I denied it, naturally, but it was there. I've GOT to get over this, there's no point in nurturing this silly, impossible crush.  
  
So I gave it my best shot. I continued my work, as well as my projects, Operation: Rose Garden, and learning to read, however difficult it got covering up my feelings. Dad and my work had touched more or less the entire castle. It was so different than when we had arrived. The sun through windows that led to balconies that would look over a beautiful courtyard, if Ivan and I were successful, lighted the bedroom's painted walls. I indulged in our skill by flopping onto the voluminous bed in bedroom 45 with the glowing peach walls. It was a lovely room; I had had dreams of waking up in it, warm and euphoric, dressed in one of the beautiful nightgowns found in the closet of the room. When I woke up in the servants' quarters, I was sad to find my usual tattered nightshirt wrapped around me, the cold making me shiver through the worn blankets of my bed. The wood of the dining room tables was radiant, deep reds and browns. The statues in the garden were polished to their marble swirls of white and gray. I couldn't wait to see the effect of sunlit flowers' faces on the marble.  
  
The slanted sun of dawn suddenly lighted the entire castle from within. I sighed with satisfaction, standing in dining room 12, my duster held loosely at my side. Time to work on the gardens, so said the breaking sun. That was my signal. That was when Ivan would be there, and we could work. I drew in a quick breath and made my way to the courtyard.  
  
"So," I called to Ivan as I walked into my section of the garden, "What's the next order of business? Weed disposal, right?" I stopped walking when he shook his head, "What then?"  
  
"The next order of business is you go to town and buy flowers."  
  
"Really?" My heart started jumping. Throughout work, the garden, the library, Jason, the anticipation of going back to town had never left.  
  
"Yes, the weeds are gone," he motioned around the garden. I looked around and realized, yes, the weeds WERE gone, "The soil is ready for planting."  
  
"You're right," I looked down, formulating a plan, "Okay then. I'll go today, I think." I looked back up at Ivan, "Yes. Okay, I need money, maybe a little more if I have to spend the night."  
  
"Okay, we'll talk to Crawford." We left the courtyard.  
  
  
  
"You're quite sure you want to go alone, Sasha?" Crawford asked for the twentieth time.  
  
"Yes, quite, QUITE sure, Crawford." I adjusted the stirrups on Barcelona, Ivan stood silently next to Crawford. His face was solid, unreadable, black- brown stone. I forced myself not to snap at Crawford, he was worried, I should be relishing this paternal warmth. I hopped onto the horse, and was just about to nudge her into a walk when I felt Crawford's hand on my leg. I looked at him and was surprised to see such intense worry. This was more than normal worry.  
  
"I'll be fine, Crawford," I said, smiling to eradicate the worry on his face, "I promise." It didn't work.  
  
"Sasha," he said, his voice deadly serious. The carefree smile slipped off my face like running butter, "People will know where you work. And some," he paused, as if trying to think of a proper euphemism. He shook his head, giving up, "The villagers have been becoming increasingly aware of the stories that have been going around about our master. Things have gotten tense, there is talk around the village of coming to the castle and," he swallowed, "killing him. I haven't the faintest idea what some of the more militant villagers will do to someone who works for the beast lord. I want you to be as careful as possible. Don't talk to anyone, keep to yourself. I know you now, Sasha, I know your personality. Please, make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. I'll let you go now." He stepped back from the horse. All my excitement that had been building for weeks about the trip had turned sewage.  
  
"I'll be careful, Crawford. Don't worry about me, I'm a servant: I'm the queen of melting into the woodwork when I'm not wanted." Crawford's face twisted into a semblance of a smile.  
  
I dug my heels into Barcelona, she jumped into a run. I raced to get away from the safety of the castle, before I changed my mind. My mind laughed bitterly, to think I'd thought the castle such a prison. Now it was a haven, I hated leaving it, even if it was to the village.  
  
  
  
I took a deep breath and swung myself off Barcelona. My butt and legs ached, I'd had her canter the whole way. I regretted it, seeing Barcelona's heaving, sweaty flanks. I'd feed her a few sugar cubes, when we got back. I hitched her to a post used by visitors to the village and tightened the scarf over my slightly distinctive hair. It was a growing village, no longer a collection of mud-brick farms, it had gained a market place and a church made of stone. The church had nothing on the castle's spires. I walked cautiously down the marketplace. I was suspicious of everyone. Who were the militant villagers who had the mental deficiency to actually believe all the crazy rumors about Jason. Between nervous glances at the crowd around me, I kept my head low and my shoulders hunched. Keep small and inconspicuous, my steady mind-voice instructed, Just like during Dame Julibell's dinner parties.  
  
I approached the grouping of florist shops. The flowers were in fine shape. It was mid-spring, the perfect time for planting. I drifted between the rows of lilies, hyacinths, tulips, even some sapling seeds of small, garden trees.. I grabbed the small bags of seeds of each flower, I was up to five when I found the roses. An entire aisle was dedicated to roses. Each one was different, golden yellow buds, then deep purple blooms. I grabbed as many as my hands could hold, taking extra of the ruby blood red roses. THOSE were the best. The ends of their petals silken ruby red, the color changing as it reached the heart from a garnet crimson, to a dark red, heart-blood red. The kind of red that stained the battleground. I took six of those bags.  
  
"That'll be four gold florins," (A/N: Thank you, A Knight's Tale, for informing me of the currency of the age.) said the florist, sounding bored. Good, the less interested in me she sounded the better. I dumped the coins next to the bags on the counter.  
  
"Thank you for choosing Nature's Florist. Have a nice day." She turned to the next customer. As she did, I was frozen by the sudden stare of a young man. He had been replanting a fern when he froze in his place, staring at me. His hair was black, curling around his neck. His eyes were way too pale blue, and filled with a frightening mixture of fear and hate and anger and violence. He was one of them, I quickly realized, one of the militant villagers. One of the men who would destroy Jason. I bolted from the shop, the bags of seeds held in my apron.  
  
It was five o'clock, I'd eat at some inn, then ride Barcelona like a bat outta hell until I was back at the castle, back in Jason's eyes. NOT under the gaze of that poor, misled young man. I suddenly felt a great swallow of pity for him, he had no idea what he really feared. It was almost laughable, his fear of Jason. Jason, sweet, kind, understanding, patient Jason. There was little to fear in him. Except that darkness in his eyes that I knew, someday, would boil to the surface. He didn't know I knew, but I could feel it between us, like the inevitable eruption of a long dormant volcano. It was only a matter of time before one of us would set it off. I'd waited for that day, but it had ceased to come. We'd only grown closer together, as friends, through the lessons. And also the talks we sometimes had. While I learned little of him, he had learned tons about me. I spilled my guts out to him in the candlelight, not regretting a word. He knew me better than even Crawford. I couldn't understand the man's fear of Jason.  
  
I walked into the inn, taking a seat at a table. It was barely crowded, just the usual drunks and friends ending their workday. I was one of the few people who were alone. I didn't mind, I enjoyed watching their merriment. It made me smile. Took off the edge of fear that churned in my stomach after my encounter with the young man with the hateful eyes. I quietly sipped my ale and chewed on my bread and meat (A/N: Not sure what they ate at inns back then, sue me.). Still feeling uneasy, I finished quickly, paid, and exited the inn. Night had fallen, the moon drifted between the buildings. Now I just had to get back to Barcelona, then back home. I smiled at the thought.  
  
I wish it wasn't a smile that the hand that clapped around my mouth felt. Another arm wrapped around my middle, dragging me roughly into an alley. Pain burned in my neck, my head being pushed back against my assailant's shoulder. I felt like throwing up, the pressure so great from the other arm around my freshly fed stomach. I was thrown against the stonewall of the church, figures. The perfect place to be, most likely, raped and murdered. A new pain burst in the back of my head from the impact. My eyes blurred, I couldn't see whoever was accosting me. I felt cold hands gripping my neck. Oh my God, they want to kill me! I did the only thing I could think to do, I tried to scream. The noise reminded me of Ivan's pigs when they were hungry.  
  
"Shut up, you godless bitch!" cried the thug. My eyes cleared slightly, the moon had rose, illuminating the alley. I wasn't surprised to be, once again, staring into the ice eyes of the young man from the florist shop. I was surprised to see three other men, older than the florist, lounging around the alley, watching him extinguish a human life. They all had hateful eyes.  
  
"P-please d-don't," I spluttered helplessly. He was strong, and not too dumb. He knew I could kick, so he'd lifted me slightly, using the stone as leverage, so I was on my toes. Kicking would have meant midair dangling, something my oxygen-deprived body wouldn't allow.  
  
"I knew you the minute I saw you in the shop," he murmured, his voice thick with rage, "The Devil is in you, minion of the beast. You will die for your sins." How ridiculous, I wanted to spit in his face. That was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. Oh great, my mind whined as it dimmed, these militant villagers think they have God on their side. I felt unwelcome tears slide down my cheeks. I didn't want to die, not one little bit. I tried to scream again when I realized I couldn't see at all now, though my eyes were wide open. I'm going to die, my mind said. Sue me for stating the obvious.  
  
  
  
A/N: Enjoy the cliffhanger! 


	10. The Intruder

A/N: See what I did there, I said I didn't have a goal and I did. I turned it around on you guys ... Actually, when I started the chapter I didn't have a goal, but when I switched p.o.v's (I'm shocked that the divider worked, I'll do that for my dividers from now on), it just sorta happened. Like Ivan being black n stuff. Reviews have been coming up suspiciously short lately. Is this about the Interruption? Anyways, I should really let the cliffhanger go for a while, torture you guys at least a little bit. But, I'm bored with nothing better to do. You all should be SO HAPPY and APPRECIATIVE that you are reading a story by an author who writes so damn much. I know I'd be. K, enough preaching. For future purposes dividers like this = = = are p.o.v changes. Here we go.  
  
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"The minion whore dead yet?" I could barely hear one of the other men say, sounding bored and impatient. I couldn't BELIEVE these people. It was so wrong, their fear and hatred, the fact that they were killing me, and he had the balls to sound bored!?  
  
"Almost," grumbled the florist. I couldn't feel my legs, or much of anything else besides the pain of the choke on my neck. He was right, just a few more seconds and it'd be over. Good, an end to this pain would be greatly appreciated.  
  
The end of that specific pain came, but not with the peaceful drifting away I'd hoped for while dangling, body pressed against the church. I was on the ground, tossed, on my back. The moon blinded my eyes, I squinted and turned my head away, neck aching. Why could I see? I was dead, wasn't I? My ears brought a fresh supply of pain to my brain when they were treated to a scream. I scooted up against the side of the church, and nearly screamed myself at the sight of Jason. He had materialized out of the darkness from the forest behind the church. He now had the florist held three feet in the air by HIS throat. I felt a wicked grin of vindication spread across my smarting face despite of me. His body was in silhouette (A/N: Oh-my-God! I am the queen of spelling!), though I could see he was wearing a dark cloak. The only thing in shadow I could see was the glowing green of his eyes.  
  
"JASON!" I screeched as loud as my injured throat would allow,. I had spotted a man coming from behind with a dagger, "LOOK OUT!"  
  
Jason dropped the florist, who lay in a pile, unmoving. He whipped around and caught the man around his bear-bloated belly, lifting him up on his shoulder like a sack of grain. With a fierce feral roar he tossed that man into the pile that was the florist. The last two men came at him, what morons! The sensible thing was to run faster than you possibly could away from this demon of the night. But nooo, we can beat him, chaps, c'mon! Jason, almost nonchalantly had not been so enraged, swung the sharp claws of his left arm into one man's stomach. With a squeal of pain he knocked into his dim-witted drinking buddy, sending them both crashing into the church stonewall. That left four militant villagers down, none to go. Everything went still for a moment, Jason was bent over, breathing hard, barely moving. I still had my back pressed firmly into the stone, although it ached.  
  
"Jason?" I creaked, my voice still sore. He was too still, he needed to say something. I won't lie, what had just happened had scared me, and Jason's show of extreme bravery and chivalry was not excluded. I needed to hear him speak, to be my friend and teacher, not a wild animal of the night. I heard him swallow, and he suddenly dropped from his kneeling position to a tired, stretched out sit. His cloak draped around him. I jumped to my feet and was by his side in a flash.  
  
"Jason, please say something," I begged him. I felt tears rising in my eyes, then falling down the previously emblazoned trail left by their predecessors.  
  
"I'm," he swallowed, as if trying to rid himself of the roar in his voice. It didn't work very well, "s-sorry you had to see that." Aw, poor Jason. How could he think that?  
  
"Would you have rather me been unconscious, or worse, dead, so I wouldn't have to witness you valiantly fighting off my assailants?" I couldn't resist zinging him. I waited for his answer but it didn't come.  
  
Angrily I said, "Well?!"  
  
"I'm thinking about it." I had to laugh at that one, a good burn deserves appreciation. I laid my hand on Jason's shoulder, putting my forehead to his. From this angle I could see his fang-adorned smile.  
  
"Okay, I was wide-open to that one, but, really, how could you think that? You gave those bastards exactly what they deserved. I'm just glad you got there before I really WAS either dead or unconscious. I wouldn't have missed that show for the world!" I decided I'd had enough sitting on the cold ground. I put my arm through Jason's helping him stand, though I don't think he needed it. I let him stand on his own once we were upright.  
  
"I guess you're right, Sasha. As always. But," he sighed, "I just didn't want you to see it." The smile drifted off my face, it was time for a talk. Oh God, how I HATE the big talks! I'm so bad at them!  
  
"I would have eventually. You know it and I know it, so there. This is more than likely the ideal way to let me see what you are truly capable of. Would you prefer me to have found out in an argument about how to pronounce Mt. Aetna?" He wasn't looking at me, I didn't force him.  
  
"Once again, you're one hundred percent correct. I kind of wished you'd said something earlier. It would have kept a lot of egg shells from being walked on, by both of us."  
  
"Yeah, but that was MY mistake. And I think we did all right, don't you? I mean, I'm still here, and I've got all my fingers and toes and any other extremities intact. C'mon," I said, ending this big talk before we reached someplace neither of us wanted to go, at least, not yet, "It's freezing out here, and, I don't know about you, but more or less every part of me hurts. Let's get the hell outta this horrible village." We walked, arm-in-arm, back to the hitching post and Barcelona. I unhitched her, and we walked along the road leading out of the village, the moon lighting our way.  
  
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It was time for another big talk. Not THE big talk, that was for later, MUCH later if I had anything to say about it. She deserves to know everything now, my mind said resided to the fact, It's your fault for waiting this long. Okay, here goes nothing.  
  
"Sasha?"  
  
"Yeah, Jason?" I love that name.  
  
"I think it's time you knew." QUIT STALLING!  
  
"Knew what?" Like she didn't know! C'mon!  
  
"About why I am, um, the way I am." You're a real mental colossus, aren't you, beast boy.  
  
"Okay, I think so too." Oh man, my mind cried, now I really have to go through with this!  
  
"Okay. I, uh, I'm not sure where to start." No point pretending like I don't have a care in the world, not with her, not about this.  
  
"Tell me about your parents. We can start from there." She always had an answer, and a good one at that.  
  
"My father was Lord Nicholas, my mom was Lady April. They ruled justly, and gained much land. My kingdom would have been great ."  
  
"Except ." she said, prodding me down a path I'd been before.  
  
"Except I was a spoiled, callous, greedy, merciless snot named Derrick who didn't deserve my parents' doting love."  
  
"I'm sure that's not entirely true." Damn her optimism! She saw the best in things, even me.  
  
"If only! You have no idea," I paused, just reviewing all the atrocities I'd committed, wondering why the consequences had taken their sweet time catching up with me, "Anyway, I was a horrible ruler. I, well, I'd rather not go into the details of just what a putrid human I'd allowed myself to become. Suffice it to say, I made one mistake, and it was my last."  
  
"And that was?" Yup, there would be no more hiding between us. Greeeaat.  
  
I sighed, "I wanted to build a new castle and I chose the wrong forest to hack to shreds." Another pause. C'mon, get it over with! "It happened to be the summer home of a powerful fairy. Not three trees were down, with myself as surveyor, when the fairy burst from the trees and blasted me with magic. The next thing I remember is being in the library, on the floor, and Crawford taking measurements." I almost smiled at that memory. My parent's old butler, quietly measuring my tail. "I didn't understand right away. Not until Crawford picked up my tail, and wagged it in my face. That about ended my denial as well. It wasn't until half a year went by, all the staff except Crawford had left, not to mention the courtiers, and the rest of that castle trash. I didn't really mind, to be honest, I didn't really give two shits what they did. I had more important things to worry about, obviously.  
  
"Crawford was amazing about all this, he really was. He took care of all the former staff, made me suitable clothes for my new shape, cleaned as much of the castle as he could, and hired Svetlana to cook. I'm forever in his debt for everything he did for me-"  
  
"What about Ivan? I thought you said all the staff left except Crawford. If Ivan wasn't staff, then ."  
  
I sighed, this was the most painful part, and I knew it would be, "Like I said, it wasn't until half a year went by that I could finally start my life again. Well, start my new life as what I was. By that time, the rumors had already started, sprung from what the woodsmen I'd hired had thought they saw that day. I walked outside, that's when I saw Ivan. He'd learned to hate me in the past half a year. For what had happened to him because of my stupidity. We didn't speak; I went hunting with my new body, and enjoyed myself for the first time. I asked Crawford what had happened and he told me."  
  
"What happened, Jason?"  
  
"Apparently I wasn't the only one to be cursed. I got the brunt of the attack, but Ivan and a few scattered others were effected by the blast of furious magic as well. Do you know how old Ivan is?" I stopped walking and faced her, in the middle of the moonlit road.  
  
"I'd say, thirteen, maybe fourteen." Oh Christ, here it goes.  
  
"The man is thirty-four years old." I watched her mouth drop open, and I hated myself again for what I'd done to him. She closed her mouth and swallowed dryly.  
  
"Well," she said hesitantly, "That does explain a few things." We started walking again.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like how quiet he is. I knew something was different about him the moment we met. He was too quiet. No boys his age, no matter what color they are, are like that. Stone's the only word I can think of to describe him. Now, I sorta understand why. He's not a boy at all." We walked for a while, each contemplating Ivan's fate, "What about the rest of them?" she finally asked.  
  
"I don't know. Crawford said Ivan was the only one who decided to stick around. I like to think that's what made him the smartest of all who were cursed. He knew he'd have some kind of home here. Crawford gave him a job, and a bed in the castle. But he never comes inside, for reasons I think are pretty obvious." She nodded, understanding immediately, like I had, Ivan's reasons, "I don't blame him for hating me, I'm sure he's not the only one-"  
  
"Don't, Jason," she said quietly.  
  
"Don't what?" Like I didn't know. Great, and we've got another Crawford on our hands, ladies and gentlemen!  
  
"You know, just don't, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I know, and I won't."  
  
"Thank you." She took my hand, and we walked in silence the rest of the way to the castle.  
  
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I felt better when I saw the castle come into view, a lot better. I wanted badly to sink into one of the library's chairs and think for a while. I started jogging toward the castle, but was jerked back by Jason's strong hand in mine.  
  
"Wha-" I started to say, but stopped when I caught site of his face. His hackles were up, and he was stone still. His nose was twitching. I glanced around anxiously, something was wrong. Now, as I looked at the front door, I saw it. It was open, slightly swaying in the chilly wind of the night air. Somebody was inside the castle. My mind spun with possibilities. Could it be the villagers? Had they finally decided to destroy the beast lord? I felt sick at the idea.  
  
"C'mon," Jason said, pulling me up the stairs of the front door quickly. Inside the door, the main hall was empty, but one pair of muddy boot prints could be seen on the floor. We dove into the shadows, me led by Jason and Jason led by his twitching nose. I didn't make a sound, I knew better than that. His eyes were taking on that green glow again. I started to wonder if maybe that glow had anything to do with what the villagers said.  
  
We prowled down different hallways, it was obvious whoever was here had been here a while, exploring. They must not have known their way around. Suddenly Jason stopped at the open door of dining room 1, where we ate dinner. Noises of sloppy chewing could be heard outside the room. Jason craned his neck so that he could see into the room, but not touch the door.  
  
"It's a man, an old man," he whispered. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but the green glow hadn't left his eyes.  
  
"Well," I murmured, hoping Jason wouldn't do something rash, "Um, he must've gotten lost on that road. We should help him, dontcha think?"  
  
"He's an intruder." Jason growled, his teeth clenched together. The green glow got stronger. Oh, this could end badly. Before I could stop him, Jason had burst into the dining room. Apparently he'd not calmed down all the way from my attack in the alley, and the little impromptu confession had not soothed him any. I did the only thing I could think to do; I melted into the shadows, like a good maid should.  
  
  
  
I didn't hear the conversation between the old man and Jason, but I did catch sight of the man running from the castle, swinging onto a horse we'd missed coming in, and galloping away. I sighed in relief, at least he was okay, and Jason hadn't killed him. I ran to the only place I could think to find him.  
  
"Jason? Are you okay?" I slowly approached him, in his favorite chair, in the library. He was hunched over, head in his hands.  
  
"He said he's going to give me his youngest daughter, the disgusting retch." He looked up at me, the glow was still there, but dim now, "I tried to tell him I didn't want her, but I got the feeling I had no choice. It was like being sold something by an orphan beggar. I feel sick." He put his head back in his hands. I didn't know what to say.  
  
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A/N: Sound familiar? This is where the plot thickens, I think. I've been deliberating whether or not to do this, and I think the decision has been made. Now, I'll be honest, I don't know Beauty and the Beast the movie very well, so I'm gonna have to wing it a bit. But hey, isn't that what all ff.net writers do, wing it? Do you see where I'm going with this whole thing? I happen to think it was pretty damn clever of me. There you go, Chibi Hime, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about Jason's curse. Let's see if these dividers work. 


	11. The Intruder's Daughter and The Shell

A/N: Sorry for the delay, and about being a brat about reviews. But you, that means you browser-types, have no idea what a lack of support can do to the communication between a writer and her muse. And while she's not exactly singing an Italian aria to me as of late, I think I've been enough of a brat. Anyways, these next few chapters will be the "big talk" chapters. Prejudices and preconceived notions, jealousy and confrontations, psych-textbook-desired kinda stuff abound. A mess o' thanks to Lady Sorrow and lanthene. A masterpiece? I don't know what to say, except: baton down the hatches, these next few chapters are gonna be angsty ones! Hopefully it won't last as long as I have a feeling it will. We'll kick this one off with Sasha. Here we go.  
  
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I was worried about Jason. He hadn't been the same since the night the intruder came. The lessons were longer, and we started going even faster, we finished the letters and started moving on to spelling and sounds and sentence structure. We worked so much of the time; we more or less stopped talking afterwards. He would read some, only some, then declare it too late for anything else, escort me to the servants' quarters, and then disappear into the darkness. I was so confused, what in God's name was going on up there in his shaggy head to make him so remote all of a sudden? I was pretty sure it was nothing I did, I KNOW when I screw up. The only thing that made sense was the intruder's promise.  
  
I wondered what this girl would be like. Would she be very young? Would she be my age? I doubted she was of noble birth, but what if she could read? I felt a tight knot of worry deep in my stomach. What if Jason liked her better than me? I felt foolish thinking it, so what if he does? I felt the defensive shell that paid servitude had built wrap around me, make me spiky and hard on the outside, a quivering egg-like substance that was me on the inside. I'm the help, he's the master, I will do as he says, my mind repeated the mantra. Even if it is to stop coming to the library. The shell hardly flinched, while the goo inside wept. Oh, get over it, shouted the shell at the inside, You never had a place there anyway, you can't even read! It's the master's library, not SASHA'S library! He asks you to leave; you damn well better or you'll get fired! The shell sounded suspiciously like the head maid of Lady Winters, Gretchen. If there was ever a boss less like Crawford, it was Gretchen. I'll leave it at that. At the sound of it, I whipped myself to attention; the memories of the hours of instruction came flooding back. Do your work! Ignore the nobles! Back straight! Know when you aren't wanted! Leave as quietly as you possible can, you cow, Sasha, so they don't have to look at your unworthy face! Yup, that's Gretchen all right, screeching instruction into my head. And I followed it, word for word.  
  
  
  
I worked all day, first in the garden, then the kitchen, then the library, then the castle, then at lessons. If Jason was a block of ice, I was the glacier it was chipped from. I left on my own after lessons, the shell whispering venomously to leave him alone, he's only doing you a favor, servant, you don't need to take up anymore of his time by forcing him to read to you! The inside tried to fight, but was mercilessly crushed down so hard, its tears were even imprisoned on the inside. They stayed locked away as a lump in my throat. Then, the shell hardly took notice; the intruder's daughter was here.  
  
I watched from the shadows of where I was scrubbing the main hall's floor as Crawford walked briskly, as usual, to the door. I realized that this was probably exactly the way he looked when he'd opened the castle door to Dad and me. It was strange to see it from the inside this time. I felt a spark of sympathy for the girl outside, being confronted by those snarling stone lions, and the main door itself. Although it didn't creak as it had, we'd made sure of that. In fact, I realized, she wasn't coming to the castle I had. She would never be exposed to the darkness that once shrouded it, or the decay the rooms had once been dying of. Not to mention the claws-for-trees I'd had to contend with. That had been fixed with the coming summer. I had never imagined those claws could grow anything beautiful, but there they were. She would see a sprawling, spotless castle emerged from lush foliage, with good food and fairytale rooms. She'd probably sleep in bedroom 45, since it was the best one in the castle. I knew, all the time I'd used to daydream about it being mine. That wouldn't happen anymore.  
  
I watched her come in, looking frail and frightened. She was older than me, by maybe two or three years, taller too. She had feathery-soft brown hair that drifted around her shoulders, tucked back by a ribbon. How quaint. Her eyes were big and brown, like pools. She was pretty; there was no denying that. Fan-freaking-tastic. Crawford led her up the stairs, presumably to her room. I finished scrubbing, then moved to the kitchen to help Svetlana with dinner.  
  
  
  
Dinner was normal, all things considered. Jason didn't eat with us, never had. The intruder's daughter didn't either. It was just Crawford, Svetlana, and I. Nobody spoke, what with me being locked up in my shell, and Svetlana being, well, Svetlana.  
  
Finally, Crawford spoke, "The girl's name is Belle," he said informatively, "I don't know how long she'll be staying, we'll just have to work around her now." I got the feeling he hadn't taken an instant liking to her. What must she be like? "Sasha, if she needs something, and asks for it, you will get it or do it or whatever she wants, is that clear?" I was hurt by his tone. Something must have happened, something that upset him that he wasn't saying. I had no doubts I'd find out.  
  
"Yes, sir," the shell answered for me. I kept eating without tasting.  
  
  
  
Not a day later, while I was working in the library, I heard faint, light steps coming down the hall. I knew who it was immediately, and the shell hardened that much more. Belle walked in, her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. She came within six feet of me, then stopped. Probably concerned I was contagious of some servitude-causing sickness. The way she stood, I could tell she must have SOME money. She certainly knows how to treat the help. Without speaking I could feel her distain of talking to me.  
  
"Servant?" Figures, why would SHE care what my name is! I could immediately see what had gotten to Crawford, "I need something." No shit, Your Highness! I shut my brain off right there, lest I say something rash. I have to say, letting the shell do all the talking was a sweet relief.  
  
"Yes, my lady?" Nothing had changed, I was the servant, or, even lower, the servant's daughter, and I would do any damn thing she said. It was as simple as turning off my mind.  
  
"Clean my room, 'tis filthy!" WHAT!? I'd just cleaned it yesterday! And what the HELL was this 'tis shit? Okay, calm down right now! Shut it off, just shut everything off! I could actually feel my eyes dim as I went on full-servant mode.  
  
"Yes, my lady." I abandoned the library. Suddenly it wasn't as magical a haven as it had been. Not if she could violate it so easily. Before I let myself completely slip under, I glanced around the library, observing the darkness creeping around its edges.  
  
  
  
Clean her room, HA! She had twelve more jobs where THAT load of shit came from. Not that I minded, being that the entire time I was a machine. In fact, I didn't actually do the work, the shell did. And it did it with a smile on its face and a "Yes, my lady." at every new order she spat at me.  
  
I knew that this wasn't healthy, shutting off like this, however relieving and easy it was. In the old days, I could revive my comatose self at the festivals, but not anymore. Now I was off all the time, and I knew I would slowly forget how to turn myself back on. I hated it, the castle had gone from a prison to a haven to a prison again. I found myself missing the dankness of the castle when we'd fist came, missed nurturing it back to health. Ivan said the gardens were growing splendidly, but the flowers only reminded me how things would never be the same. I missed Jason. That was the only weapon I had against the shell. A thought of him could almost get the tears through the cracks, but not all the way. Oh well, there'd be other chances. I had no idea how he and Belle were getting along, and I really didn't want to know. All I knew was that he wasn't my friend helping me out anymore, he was the master doing some charity work.  
  
I was shocked and wounded at how far we'd fallen. How could this have happened? It couldn't have been all Belle, could it? Something else must have happened, I must have done something wrong. But I could think of nothing. Besides, I shouldn't be having these thoughts, I was the help. I have to go back to work.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * A/N: It's gonna be a long couple of chapters. But I've already got most of it planned out, and it won't be too long. Don't expect a Jason p.o.v too soon either, maybe after the next chapter. Also, I've got an idea for a new story. I've been thinking about it for quite some time, and while my muse (I should really name her) wasn't cooperating on True Beauty, she was singing for this new one. However, during my stint of writer's block, I created a new principle for myself: I will NOT start a new story until I finish the one I'm on. That way, my Rainne place won't get all cluttered with half-finished stories, like, about EVERY other author's place I've ever seen! If I really and truly can't keep a story going, it's gone, deleted, not stickin' around, no matter how many good reviews I get, k? Read and review, please, you browser-types have no idea how inspiring reviews can be. 


	12. Belle's Plan

A/N: I'm not sure how to start this one, I'll just try to wing it and see what comes out. Maybe we'll hear from Jason this chapter, that'd be nice, wouldn't it? Thanks much to my regulars, Chibi Hime, Chien, possibly a new friend Lady Sorrow, you guys ROCK. We're gonna be getting a closer look at Belle in this one, I really shouldn't say any more than that. Okay, here we go.  
  
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This was not good at all. Sleep, eat, work, eat, work, eat, work, sleep had become my day. I wasn't sure how long I could keep this up. My thoughts had become simple and short, Keep cleaning, keep eating, keep breathing, Belle's calling. For some reason, I'd been labeled as Belle's personal handmaiden. I would have been upset, if I'd had any emotion left. She gave so many orders; I went to sleep more tired than the day before (A/N: I actually wanted to start w/ that line, but I couldn't remember it until now **grins sheepishly**.).  
  
She never said my name, I doubted she knew any of our names, "Servant, my wardrobe! 'Tis dusty! Wipe it, I shall want to view my visage in it within the hour!" Approximate time of order: 10:55 pm. That was a fun day. And yes, she DID talk like that ALL THE TIME.  
  
"Servant, I'm ever so hungry, fetch me something to eat!" Ugh, it just goes on like this, I don't think I need to elaborate any more.  
  
Suffice it to say, I'd never felt emptier or more miserable in my life. There were no words to describe my fear of the future, of what I was slowly becoming. If past events had taken me off that road I'd strode unfailingly after my mother's death, Belle had thrown me a hundred miles farther down it.  
  
  
  
I was remaking her bed, in bedroom 45, if you can believe it, when Her Evilness burst through the door, looking furious. I'd never seen her this way. Her usually pool-like eyes flashing, her brow creased, stomping on the floor as she walked like she was trying desperately to break right through it. So shocked to see her like this, I didn't realize that she was marching straight at me, poison daggers shooting from her eyes. When I did I shrunk back against the wall, fearing for my own life. I hadn't done that, well, not in the same spirit, since that night in the village.  
  
"YOU!" she shouted, "Servant! You are RUINING my plans!" She came right up in my trembling face a finger stabbing a little too close for comfort at my neck.  
  
"W-w-what, my lady?" I stuttered. It was the first alteration in my speech patterns in a week.  
  
"Like you don't know! BAH! I can see it in your," she struggled for a suitable adjective, "Worthless," she settled on, "face!" She jerked away from me, pacing like a furious tigress. I tried to creep away from the wall, my muscles tired from their adrenaline-pumped state, but she was there again, pointy finger nearly going straight up my nose.  
  
"M-my lady," I half-whispered, "I surely have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
"Don't lie to me, SERVANT!" Was that the best insult she could come up with? I guess it was where she came from, "YOU are ALL he can TALK about!" Huh? Is she talking about what I think she's talking about? My heart fluttered slightly. Still, best to play dumb with enraged nobles. I wasn't sure whether she had the power to can me, but I wasn't in the mood to try.  
  
"I really, honestly don't kno-"  
  
"No matter WHAT I do, how much of MY time I spend with him," it seemed her carefully cultured language had gone out the window, "it's always, 'Oh, me and SAASHAA read that book!' or 'I wonder what SAASHAA would think of this.' You are RUINING EVERYTHING!" She actually came after me. That's the funny part. I nearly burst out laughing when she went for my throat with her pointy little fingers. I quickly grabbed her wrists, holding her at a suitable distance.  
  
"LET GO OF ME!" she screeched. Another rule with enraged nobles: make sure you know how to defend yourself, just in case. Work in the garden had toned my arm muscles to definition, if not perfection. This sweet little girl wasn't going anywhere. I was angry now, and tired of her shit. It was the best feeling in the world, as I felt the shell crack, then shatter, and find the goo inside wasn't quite as runny as I'd thought. Now, to get some answers outta the little bitch.  
  
"I will let you go," I said acidly, "You will sit in this chair," I walked her into a small chair near the window, "and not get up until you tell me every goddamn thing about your little plan."  
  
I stood in front of her, making damn certain my body language said try to get up and I'll tear your precious little face off. She did try, silly little shit, and I soundly thrust my body into her. She may have been taller, but I was superior when it came to strength, big surprise. She dropped back into the chair soundly, crossing her arms and pouting toward the window. I didn't say anything, she knew she wasn't leaving, and I knew I could go without food much longer than her. She glared up at me, but I kept my face passive, a stonewall that would remain where it was until she told me what I wanted to hear.  
  
"Fine!" she snapped at me, "You wanna know, I'll tell you! In fact, I'm actually shocked you don't already know, being that you and the master are SUCH GOOD FRIENDS and all." I rolled my eyes at her.  
  
"Spit it out, precious," I growled angrily, "I've got things to do."  
  
She huffed exasperatedly, "You know how to break the curse, the beast lord's curse, don't you?" I thought back on the folk songs and rumors. Had one of them mentioned a cure for the curse? Yeah, I think so, wasn't it- "You have to make him fall in love with you!" she cried, soundly derailing my train of thought. HIM fall in love with YOU? Wait, that doesn't sound right.  
  
I opened my mouth to correct her, but she'd already started yakking again, "My father said I should come here and break the curse. It made sense to me: live in a castle, get famous as the-girl-who-broke-the-curse, and even get a rich AND hot husband outta the deal. There was no downside, until I actually GOT here, and saw what a dribbling sap he was for you. Plus, those creepy eyes of his," she paused, shaking off a memory, "I have to tip my hat to you," she continued, "Your WAY farther along than I'VE gotten. But I guess that makes sense, since you didn't have any competition or any-"  
  
"What?!" Was she serious? Did she REALLY think I was after Jason's money? That I was after JASON, for that reason anyway? Ugh, the idea made my stomach churn. How could someone play on another's emotions like that? I felt like punching her beautiful face in, "I have NO sadistic PLAN to break his curse, and I'm disgusted, though not AT ALL shocked, that YOU do!" She sniffed, looking out the window again.  
  
"Like it matters what YOU think, servant. A few more days and he'll be mine, whether he likes it or not. And there's little, short of killing me, which I wouldn't be AT ALL shocked if you did, servant, that you can do about it. Now, move aside, I've told you everything." I did as I was told, feeling wounded and small, "Oh, and, by the way," she turned slowly, an oily smile on her face, "Remake the bed, servant." She was giggling musically as she danced, as she always seemed to, out of the room.  
  
That's when the tears made their daring escape. I collapsed on the tiny, couldn't seat a six year old comfortably chair and wept until my apron was soaked through.  
  
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Like I couldn't see what was going on here. Please! Believe it or not, I'd been through THIS particular torment before. The first few years, as the rumors congealed in the population's mind, villagers from all over the realm sent their daughters to woo me into my true form. It made me sick, it really did. But one good roar or two sent every last one of them running for the hills. Their numbers had eventually trickled down to once or twice a year, thank God. But this one, she was persistent. It didn't matter that she had it wrong in the first place; it wasn't like anyone was going to correct her. For a while her little tricks were amusing. The thought that anyone could fall in love with such a shameless tramp was laughable.  
  
I'd known what would happen as soon as the intruder had pawned his daughter off on me. But it still caught me off guard; it had been a while since one of them had worked up the balls to actually send their daughter off to a very-likely early grave. He was either desperately poor, or didn't care for his offspring as much as money and power. But still, I found myself in shock, and it showed. Everything had been going so well, I was happy, or really, REALLY close to it, and now this? What kind of sick joke was this?  
  
Anyway, knowing what was happening, I couldn't face Sasha. I couldn't help but wonder what she'd think if she knew what I would do to this pretty little defenseless fairy-tale whore. Then, suddenly, I didn't have to worry about it because she wasn't there anymore. Her body was there, my racing heart and blurry mind, among other things, was damn sure of that, but that was it. It hurt so much to see her disappear into the darkness after lessons, alone, without anyone to guide her, protect her. But I said nothing, did nothing, and now I was reaping what I'd sown.  
  
I'd tried to rid myself of Belle, short of slicing her to ribbons, but she was always there. I'd climb to the highest, darkest balcony in the library, there she'd be, well maybe calling me from the bottom, "My loooooord!" I longed to be called Jason again, but that wasn't going to happen, and I never EVER wanted to hear it drop from Belle's lips. No, it would only sound right coming from one person's lips, and she wasn't here anymore. I'd still done nothing to fix this significant problem. My mind revolved around the issue, questions circling like vultures: what was I going to do? Was I too late? Have I lost her forever? Around and around. Simply apologizing didn't seem right, it didn't seem fitting or enough to fix the damage. Maybe getting rid of Belle, but that didn't seem possible, especially with her shouting in my ear like this-  
  
That's when I noticed the slut, and I jerked in surprise, nearly falling off my perch atop the twelfth bookcase.  
  
"- LISTENING to me?!" she had been shouting. She was hanging on the uppermost steps of the ladder, waving her arms in my face. How easy it would have been to tip her off that ladder. I glanced at the floor, wondering if a fall from this height would do the trick. Probably not, my mind mused, maybe if you threw her .  
  
"Hel-LOO! I'm over here!"  
  
"What do you want, Belle?" I spat out her name, "Can't you see I'm BUSY!" I roared the last bit at her, hoping to blow her off the ladder. No success, barely even a flinch. There will be other chances.  
  
"You don't SEEM very busy, all you're doing is sitting on a bookcase." She folded her arms indignantly over her chest. I sighed tiredly, "Come with me," her voice became suddenly soft and seductive. Oh, for Christ's sake! "We'll walk in the courtyard together, all of those roses are ever so lovely!" She reclaimed her well-bred accent. Sure, I almost laughed, she was about as well bred as an alley cat. But she already had her arm through mine, and was carting me down the ladder.  
  
I didn't want to walk in the courtyard together, it only reminded me how badly I'd screwed everything up. Being there with Belle seemed like a crime, a mistake. There was only one person I belonged there with, and she wasn't here. But I kept walking, allowing Belle to pull my weight away from the little peace I could still feel in the library, through the halls, and into the harsh sun in the courtyard.  
  
I won't lie, the courtyard WAS beautiful. Flowers and small trees of all kinds had grown uncharacteristically quickly in soil I could have sworn was long dead. Their sweet scent drifted through the air like a dream, and their colors in the sun created multi-colored patches of reflected light on the marble statues. If it hadn't been for Belle, this place would've been as much of a haven as the library. It had just as much, if not more, of the feeling of a warm embrace, the same peace that lulled you into a euphoric trance. I was amazed at Ivan and Sasha's skill.  
  
Belle had been right about one thing, the roses WERE "ever so lovely," as she put it. All different colors, from a gold-tinged peach, to a dark as night purple. And, naturally, the deepest red I'd ever seen in my life. They were perfect, illuminated with sunlight. Even with Belle, the magic of this place made me feel better than I had in weeks. I felt like Sasha was there with me again, on my arm, being warmed by the same sun. What was that she said?  
  
"What, Sasha?" I said dreamily. Abruptly the arm was gone from mine, and I looked around in surprise. Every part of me sank at the sight of an infuriated Belle.  
  
"I-AM-NOT-SASHA!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, blasting away any sense of well being given to me from the garden. It instantly seemed darker outside.  
  
"Oops." I said without emotion. She gave an indignant huff then flounced out of the courtyard. Finally, a moment of peace, maybe even, dare I say it, privacy. Although, that wasn't what I REALLY wanted, now, was it? I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to recapture the euphoric trance I'd briefly obtained. I was nearly back under its spell when I caught sight of Crawford. The look on his face destroyed my valiant efforts.  
  
"Derrick," he said quietly, "There are some torch-wielding gentlemen to see you." Not a subtle guy, Crawford.  
  
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A/N: Wow, now THAT'S what I call a cliffhanger. Let's see if I can wait more than 24 hours to finish this story. 


	13. A Florist's Tale

A/N: I shouldn't have said "torch-wielding", it's supposed to be the middle of the day! Anyways, I've decided to hold a contest: Name Rainne's Muse! I've always found it somewhat interesting when writers make light of their muses. And I LOVE feedback from you guys, so, c'mon, show me your creative sides. Send me your suggestion in the review, and I'll pick my fav, k? And I'll keep that name forever and ever. In my next story (I'm not sure when this'll end, could be this very chapter!) she'll speak up every now and then. Okay, this may not be the best chapter ever, it'll be more or less my first stab at true action. But I'll do my best, k? We'll keep with Jason until my muse strikes. Here we go.  
  
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Unlike the occasional fairy-tale whore come a-callin', threats from the population on my life were few and far between. Needless to say, I was slightly stunned.  
  
"What?" I uttered, suddenly my feet were cemented to the ground.  
  
Crawford's face was terrifying, well, at least to someone who'd known the man his entire life. There were cracks of actual fear splintering across his face, his eyes were dim with worry and possible panic. The thought of this man, Crawford "the Rock", panicking was enough to push me into motion. That thought would NEVER come to life. I walked swiftly and smoothly to Crawford, who seemed frozen. I took his hand and we left the courtyard, breaking into a run. I had one mission now: find Sasha, find Ivan, and find Svetlana. Then get the hell out of the castle before they find us. I didn't know where we'd go, the stables, the forest, but I knew we couldn't stay in the castle with the hunters tracking us down. I knew they'd kill every one of us if they could.  
  
"Crawford?" I said, still running. I saw him, out of the corner of my eye, keeping up. I was impressed with the old man's stamina.  
  
"Yes, sir," he replied.  
  
"Do you have any idea where the others are?" We had to find them, fast. I could already smell the dirt on the hunters' clothes, the dried blood on their weapons. Did I just hear a shout?  
  
Crawford was silent a moment, "I suppose we could find Svetlana in the kitchen, and Ivan in the stables, naturally. But, as for Sasha, her whereabouts are anyone's guess. All three may have been alerted to the hunters' presence." Something inside me doubted it. Think, Jason, think! All right, kitchen first, get Svetlana, my mind instructed me in phrases Ivan's outside, fine for the moment. Find Sasha!  
  
"Kitchen!" I shouted to Crawford, and sent more speed to my legs, turning down a different hall, "Get Svetlana, get out! Find Ivan, go into the forest! I'm going to find Sasha, I'll find you all later!"  
  
"Yes, sir!" Crawford answered, and sprinted down to the kitchen. Where was he getting all that energy? No time for that now, my mind chastised me, get Sasha, and get out, NOW!  
  
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I sat in Jason's chair, in the library, head in my hands, sun on my back. If I was done crying, why didn't I feel better? Oh yeah, because Belle's gonna win no matter what I do, that's why. You don't KNOW that, my hopeful mind-voice said quietly. I could almost see another version of myself patting my back comfortingly, What you DO know is that Jason doesn't like Belle. Didn't she say he was a "dripping sap" for you? What do you think THAT'S supposed to mean? I had no idea. Well, no, I HAD ideas, but none seemed to work with the fact that he was treating me like- treating me like- like a servant! There, I said it. If he was so head over heels for me, why the HELL was he treating me like this?! My mind had no answers.  
  
That's when I heard the door of the library crash open. I snapped out of my musings to the feeling of intense danger. Something was wrong, and that something had just invaded the library. I leapt from Jason's chair and behind the blue bookcase. I could see the door from there. I felt my body flinch as the doors jerked again barely withstanding a fresh attack. When had the doors locked? I had little time to think after the doors flew open, splinters of wood raining down. That's when I saw the men. Two were men from that night in the village, plus five more, pitchforks and even some axes and scythes ready and waiting for use. I felt a cold hatred settle behind my eyes as they fell on the florist. He was at the head of the group, he directed them to fan out, searching. Oh God, they're going to find me!  
  
I reviewed my options, my eyes scanning the library. They weren't as numerous as I'd have liked: out the window, or up the balcony. Well, I didn't even know if the windows opened, they were so big. And I couldn't force myself to throw my body through one, so, up the first flight of stairs I went to the black iron balcony. They really were more stairs than ladders, though they were so steep, one could understand the mistake. Reaching the top, I discovered that I could climb out onto the blue bookcase itself. There's an idea, I congratulated myself while hauling myself up off the balcony and onto the bookcase. It was dark up there, the windows were not two feet shorter than the bookcases. I watched, reminded somewhat of a bird of prey, as the hunters roamed the bookcases, in search of someone to hurt.  
  
I watched the florist walk right past the blue bookcase, then stop, and walk down it. He must have felt my eyes on him, due to the fact that I was suddenly staring down at his too pale eyes, which were boring hateful holes into mine. Oh shit.  
  
"She's up there!" he shouted to his cronies, "On top of the bookcase!" He immediately started climbing up the balcony stair. Oh shit!  
  
I was trapped, I'd trapped myself. Great going, genius, my bossy mind-voice said sarcastically. I could almost see another version of myself, standing in front of me, arms crossed, shaking her head in dismay and disapproval. I glared at her, then whipped my head downward to check the florist's progress. He was halfway up, Oh SHIT!  
  
"Go away!" I cried feebly, Yeah, that'll scare him off, "I-I didn't do anything to you!" I sounded like the poor runt of a village, being picked on by the bullies. Pathetic.  
  
The florist just grinned, relishing my fear, "We'll have you all soon, Devil-worshipper! There will be no demon to save you now!" He was so close I could see the bruises on his throat from that night, yellow now, healing. I wished he'd died that night.  
  
Just then, my ears were greeted to a sound I couldn't have been more grateful to hear: Jason's roar. He flew through the library door, landing soundlessly on all fours. Wow, he really WAS quite the magnificent creature. All muscle he was, and with those glowing eyes, forget about it! I was frozen in my position of belly-down, head over the edge of the bookcase. I glance at the florist. He was staring at Jason, complete and abject terror ran rampant on his face, frozen three quarters of the way up the stairs.  
  
"SASHA!" roared Jason, I could see his fangs from my perch on the bookcase.  
  
"I'M HERE!" I shouted in return, smiling in spite of the grime situation. Oh, was it GREAT to see him, again! The real him. It had been way too long. It was a breath of fresh air to my soul. MY voice must have been a breath of fresh air to the florist's soul, he had renewed his former mission and was scrambling up the stairs faster than before. Although, this new found devotion to killing me may have also been spurred by the beast lord himself's entrance. The smile dropped off my face like a rock as I watched in horror the florist's prodigious progress. When I glanced back at Jason, he was gone. I'd be on my own this time, no doubt about it.  
  
I rolled onto my back and scooted feet-first closer to where I knew the florist would climb up to get onto the balcony near me. Good thing he wasn't caring any weapons, my plan would be even easier to execute this way. I waited silently for him, offering no more panicky ultimatums for him to feed on. Finally, I watched his curly black hair-covered head stalk along the balcony to where I was, heard his boots clomp determinedly. Wait for it, my mind whispered to my pounding heart, wait for it, NOW! I struck out with my left foot, soundly smashing it into the right side of the florist's head. I relished the squeal of pain from the bastard as he clung to the side of his head and the side of the balcony, upon which he had been thrown.  
  
I dropped from the bookcase onto the balcony, tightening my hands into fists. Distantly, I could hear various masculine screams of pain. Jason was doing his job, and well. The florist was slumped over the side of the balcony, right hand gripping his head wound. Was that blood on his hand? God, I hoped so.  
  
"You want to kill me?" I said insolently, loving the twitch of his body at my loud words. I knew they were reverberating excruciatingly in his injured cranium, "Well, you're gonna have to earn it." I delivered another kick with the toe of my shoe into his soft midsection. Who knew a moaning groan could be so damn satisfying? I threw another kick, but was caught off guard when he suddenly grabbed my foot, twisting is swiftly and painfully. Without warning I was on my stomach, ankle screaming at me, an unmistakable weight on my back. OH SHIT!  
  
The florist put his mouth to my ear, his breath running down my face like a rank mist, "Do you know how long I've waited?" he whispered venomously, "Trying to get these useless peasant folk to finally destroy this monster?" I could feel him smile against my cheek, "And now, I will finally be avenged for what he did." HE'LL be avenged? Wait, that doesn't sound awfully Christian .  
  
"What," I croaked, dizzy from the lack of air the weight of him on me was causing, "do you mean, YOU? I thought," I took another staggering breath, "you were doing this for God." I felt a new smile on my cheek.  
  
"Nah," he whispered, "That's just to keep the other men on my side. I've got my own reasons for destroying Lord Derrick."  
  
"Mind," gasp, "sharing?"  
  
"Not at all," he responded, almost cheerfully, "The day he was cursed, my father was there." Oh God. "He got cursed too, and all because of DERRICK'S greedy, gluttonous, insatiable appetite for his own pleasure. I never saw my father again after that day," I could feel the sorrow in him, his heartbeat slowed with grief, "He was too ashamed to be seen by his family! But now, it'll all end . All of it will end now." His voice drifted off. Oh no, this man was insane! I felt him lift himself off me, but an arm was still braced across my back, pinning my arms. Oh God, what the hell was he going to do to me?! It was then that I heard the instantly recognizable sound of a blade being drawn. Tears slipped through my eyes as I bit my tongue to keep from screaming from the pain of the dagger's bite in my side. I couldn't help but scream as it drew around my side to my spine. I felt the warm, wetness of my blood oozing into my dress. I still couldn't move, and was beginning to get dizzy. Wow, that quick?  
  
I could feel the blackness drowning my vision, barely taking note of the florist, who was all of a sudden plummeting downwards. How did that happen? Did he jump? That was sure stupid of him, my mind was glazed, uncaring. Now I was floating, strange. Why did my side hurt so much? My head rolled to left, and against something warm and soft. That's when I noticed the furry arms underneath my neck and knees. Oh, I was being carried, gotcha. My eyes slid shut, the blackness even darkening the insides of my eyelids. They opened again as pain shot through my body once more from my side. I was on the floor of the library, my head and torso still cradled in those furry arms.  
  
"Sasha?" said a voice filled with fear and worry. Aw, whoever said that must really care about me. Better find out who it is, I tilted my head backwards to meet whoever cared about me. Jason! My mind was as electrified by his eyes as they had the first time I'd seen them, illuminated by moon and candlelight in the library. They still held the fiery amber, and a glowing green that was quickly dimming. The only thing that was different was the look of utter fear and worry. Oh no, had to make THAT go away.  
  
"Jason." I whispered, for some reason it was all I could manage. The pain had drifted away under his eyes.  
  
"Sasha," he whispered too, "I'm so," he paused, his voice tight, "sorry. For how I've been treating you. I'd try to explain, but it doesn't really matter now, does it?" He sounded so sad, why? His eyes closed, and I saw tears disappear into the fur on his face. The pain from my side came back. Oh no, this can't be. I can't be- my mind wouldn't even let me think it. I started to sit up, nobody's gonna- still won't say it- today! But Jason kept me still.  
  
"It's better if you stay still, Sasha," more tears slid down. I felt a boiling anger rise in my stomach and into my throat like hot magma.  
  
"No, no!" I cried, "I am NOT leaving when I FINALLY have you where I want you!" He looked startled at my voice's sudden volume. If I was really going to- nope, nothin' doin'-, then I'm at least going to say all the things that have been running like mad through my brain.  
  
"What do you mean?" Jason asked, still whispering, still silently weeping.  
  
"Jason," I said quickly, feeling my strength ebb. NO! Not yet! "You were a real jackass for doing that to me, and I'm sure you have your reasons," my voice suddenly gave out. I took a swallow and kept talking before he could stop me, "But your right, that doesn't matter now. What matters is that you saved me, a second time!" Hopefully, SHUT UP! "You care about me. And no matter what you feel for me, that clinches it. That, and not treating me like a servant, but like a friend. I love you, Jason. And I always will, whatever happens." I let the tears slip out of my closing eyes. There, I said it, now I can go.  
  
I wasn't expecting it to be like this. Suddenly, a golden light was filling my eyes. Where was it coming from? The furry arms were gone from my neck and from my side, why was I still being held? And, most importantly: where did the pain in my side go and why wasn't I dead? I felt the arms again, but they were different, somehow. My eyes opened and I looked up. Again, I was staring into fiery amber eyes, though the green had dimmed away. I didn't have a chance to study the whole face, I was suddenly swept into a hug of biblical proportions. I was on my feet, in this person's arms. It was a man, and from my position, all I could tell about him was he was tall and had black-brown hair. Okay, not enough information to be hug-worthy. I pulled back slightly, so I could see him properly. His hair was thick and dark and wavy, curling slightly at his neck. His skin was a honey-brown color, not unlike the library hardwood. He wore a gleaming smile, and his nose was a little big for his face. His eyes were awe-inspiring, to say the least. All together his face had a strange wildness to it. The smile slipped off his face, though his eyes remained in stunning joy.  
  
"Sasha, it's me," the man spoke slowly, his voice a rumble of thunder, no two ways about it. My mouth dropped open as everything fell into place.  
  
"J-Jason?" I stuttered, too thunderstruck to speak intelligibly.  
  
"Yes, you did it." The smile returned to his face, illuminating his eyes.  
  
"Oh, wow." Dammit, Sasha! What the HELL is the matter with you?! This is wonderful! Can't you SEE that?  
  
"Thank you, I thought I-" words failed him, apparently. He kind of shrugged, a bit of a feat while holding someone, apologetically. Then time slowed down. Nothing moved, and then his lips were on mine. Oh wow, was the only thing that I could think. A hand went behind my neck, his fingers on my pulse, the other on the small of my back. I wrapped my arms around his neck, entwining my fingers in his hair, for lack of a better place. There was no more space between us. As if in an effort to make even less space, his tongue slid into my mouth, grazing my teeth and my tongue gently. Wow. He pulled back, leaving my lips tingling. He pulled me in for another hug, which I gratefully accepted, for fear of dropping to the floor in my weakened condition.  
  
"I love you, too, Sasha," Jason whispered, "And I always will, no matter what happens." We stayed like that, locked up together, in the library, among the strewn bodies of the hunters we hadn't noticed before.  
  
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A/N: So, what are you thinking right now. This isn't the end, I don't think. Not quite yet. Now, I must sleep, it's nearly midnight! Cya! ^^ 


	14. Grandmothers' Names

A/N: Well, everybody, it's been fun. This is the very end of my very first fanfic. I want to thank all my new friends: Chien (my very first stranger- reviewer, you're beautiful, girl, n keep writing!), Chibi Hime (mess of thanks for all the fantastic muse-name ideas, not to mention all the support.), Lady Sorrow (uh, what's a cooking?), lanthene (that HAD to be the funniest way of saying bitch I've ever heard!). And hopefully new friends JeNnYkInZ and Bil. I'm eager to start my new fic, an original, though it's got a bit of a Dark Angel flavor. I'm pretty sure it'll be called Weapons of the Mind. I know, it's a little corny, but I like it. And I'm dying to get into the present, and outta the Middle Ages. I'd also like to give props to the author who inspired me to face my fears of my computer and communicate with all you beautiful little tattooed, gum chewing freaks, Gatekeeper. If you haven't read Not Quite A Fairytale, do it. It's smart and funny and you won't wanna stop reading it. So, on with the happy ending, I'll see you all in Originals, hopefully. Here we go.  
  
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I sat in the garden, allowing the euphoria of the place fill my mind. I put my hand on my bulging stomach. Even she calmed down here, a plus. Just that morning, I had the experience of a lifetime, my first bout with morning sickness. That new girl, Danae, she sure knew how to scrub a commode. I'd half to ask her what her secret was. I'd felt better the moment I'd walked into the sun-lit garden, breathing in the fragrance, and taking a shaky seat on this bench. My ankles were the size of tree trunks because of her. Thanks, sweetie! We'll just wait until she wants to stay up late, THEN she'll pay! I suppose it's not until you experience it yourself that you fully understand the extremes of love and hate your parents feel for you.  
  
Jason and I, after everything calmed down a little, had finally finished lessons. By calmed down I mean we kicked Belle out of the castle, the villagers who survived their fateful march on the castle spread the word that the beast lord was just a regular, everyday lord, Jason and I got hitched, and I got pregnant. I think those are all the highlights. Now things were calm, at la-  
  
"Sasha!" I jumped as Jason's face appeared in my peripheral vision.  
  
"Gah!" I cried, and smacked his shoulder.  
  
"Ow!" he whined, rubbing his injury and plopping down next to me on the stone bench.  
  
"That's what you get for scaring a pregnant lady!" I said indignantly.  
  
"Lady? Where?" he mock-scanned the courtyard for this alleged mystery woman. I smacked him again, this time upside the head, "Ow!"  
  
"Have you ever heard the saying that a sign of sure madness is to repeat a similar action and expect a different response?"  
  
"I DID get a different response, you smacked me in the head." I smacked him in the arm again, "Ow! Have YOU ever heard of the term spousal abuse?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Figures." We sat with false animosity, which naturally faded away quickly, considering our surroundings.  
  
"So, did you want something, Jason?" I said, facing him.  
  
"Oh yeah, how 'bout Davita?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Really?" he looked crushed, which I knew he wasn't.  
  
"Not a chance, sounds too much like David." He shrugged.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you're right." I patted his shoulder comfortingly. This whole name thing was beginning to bite us in the ass as I got bigger and bigger. We hadn't found a name yet. We sat in silence, commiserating as time ticked by.  
  
He suddenly looked at me, face curious, "Sasha, what was your mother's name?" I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of that!  
  
"Margaret," I answered, eagerly awaiting the revelation of our daughter's name.  
  
"Our daughter's name is April Margaret," he paused, "Or Margaret April, if you'd like. Though, I think April Margaret has a ring, don't you?"  
  
I smiled, relishing my husband's cleverness. I'd certainly bagged myself a prize catch. Inside, I congratulated myself, though I wasn't entirely sure what for, exactly. Oh well, that wasn't the point, now, was it? "I love April Margaret." Identical smiles broke on each other's faces, and I took his chin in my palm for a kiss, despite our smiles getting in the way.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
A/N: I hope to see you all in Originals, bye! 


End file.
